


At Your Side

by areyouarealmonster



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Disaster Parents Take Child On Road Trip, Explicit Sexual Language, Gen, Jewish Character, M/M, Mentioned Past Child Abuse, Rating has changed, Road Trips, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character, Trans Oswald Cobblepot, Well mention of it, a wholesome murder family, bed sharing, check chapter notes for more warnings, hot tub sexy times, mention of canon torture, murder dads take murder son on a road trip to get him to safety, not yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-14 03:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouarealmonster/pseuds/areyouarealmonster
Summary: Ed and Oswald leave Gotham with nothing but a duffel bag, a garbage bag, a handful of cash, a stolen car, and a kid.





	1. Blood in the Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waveryder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveryder/gifts).



> Post 4x15.

Ed sits down on the edge of the bed, propping the bowl of water on the bedside table.

 

“You know, Oswald, I can just take a shower, clean off all the blood that way,” he offers.

 

Oswald shakes his head. “I want to make sure there’s no damage. You’ll have to let me know if anything hurts.” He leans in with the damp cloth and gently wipes it against the corner of Ed’s mouth.

 

Ed winces. “Yeah, that hurts.” Oswald peers at him, clearly trying to determine whether or not to continue.

 

“Does anything _not_ hurt right now?”

 

“Oh, are we going to start an Indiana Jones sequence?” Ed asks, wickedly. “You want me to point to what doesn’t hurt?”

 

Oswald flushes, shuffling a bit.

 

Okay, maybe that was too far. Ed grins up at Oswald, diffusing with as much charm as he can with his mouth in this much pain. “Okay, okay, everything hurts, but keep going.”

 

Oswald _hmphs_ and dips the washcloth back into the bowl of water and touches it again to Ed’s face. Ed still winces but Oswald keeps going this time, wiping gently at the dried and flaking blood.

 

He starts with the right corner of Ed’s mouth, moving the cloth in small circles until every spot is clean and a bit raw. It stings, Ed’s jaw still aching from the torture, but it’s a sweet sting.

 

It’s amazing, honestly, how easily they fall back into old patterns. How easy it is for Ed to give in and stand at Oswald’s side again. He feels _complete_ , in a way he hasn’t felt since before…

 

Isabella.

 

Ed grabs Oswald’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.

 

“Yes?” Oswald asks, with a sigh. “What is it?”

 

“You trust me?”

 

Oswald rolls his eyes. “I said I did, didn’t I? Yes, Ed, I trust you.”

 

“Hmm…” Ed releases Oswald’s arm, letting him resume his slow, methodical, soothing cleansing. Oswald trusts him, but does _he_ trust Oswald?

 

It’s nice to be the only voice in his head; he’d forgotten how easy everything is when there’s only him, one piece. Whole. And Oswald did that, Oswald reunited him. Because this isn’t just The Riddler, this isn’t that angry, loud, vicious voice. There’s Ed and there’s Riddler and they’re not separate, not anymore.

 

Yes, Ed trusts Oswald. How could he not? Oswald chose saving Ed over killing Sofia. That’s…

 

 _True love_ , springs to mind. Ed tries to shove it back down but it bubbles up. No, no, no, they’ve been through this already.

 

Well, Ed thinks, maybe not like this. Oswald leans in to scrub at a particularly stubborn bit of blood, even more off-balance than usual, and Ed reaches up to steady him. His hands settle down on Oswald’s waist, and it feels familiar. It feels _right_.

 

Oswald stops and stands up straighter. “Ed?” he asks. Oh, and Ed realizes how deliberate Oswald has been, how much distance he’s been keeping, even with all of this, everything at the pier and back in the quiet of Ed’s shithole apartment. Oswald has been so _careful_.

 

Ed would just like him to stop.

 

“Are you still in love with me?” Ed asks, hands firm on Oswald’s waist.

 

Oswald’s eyes widen and he tries to squirm out of Ed’s grip. “I, I’m—can we just focus on this?”

 

“It’s a simple question, Oswald.”

 

Oswald chucks the washcloth into the bowl in frustration, pink water splashing out onto the table. “It is _not_ a simple question, Ed, and you know it!”

 

That’s as much answer as Ed needs, really. He tugs gently and Oswald stumbles forward, landing in his lap with an _oof_. Oswald’s eyes are wide and scared, but Ed is going to fix that, he’s going to show Oswald that it’s okay, that he’s here, that they’re finally on the same page.

 

He leans forward, not even really sure or caring if there’s still blood on his face, and presses their lips together.

 

Oswald freezes, like a deer in the headlights, and then pushes back, stumbling over his own feet, almost falling over backwards. Ed leaps up and grabs onto him again, keeping him from hitting the ground. Oswald whacks his arm, and Ed lets him go, reluctantly.

 

“What the hell was that, Ed?!” Oswald half-shouts, his voice thick and high. He’s against the far wall now, breathing hard, panicked.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

Ed holds his hands out in front of him, careful and slow. “It was a kiss, Oswald. Because I...I think I love you, too.”

 

“You _think_?!” Oswald spits. “After—after everything we’ve been through! After all that! You _think_!?”

 

“Oswald, calm down,” Ed pleads, trying to keep his voice calm. He hopes with everything he has that he can salvage this.

 

“I will _not_ calm down!” Oswald shouts with his whole body, his shrill voice cracking. “These past few months I have been betrayed, manipulated, and completely _fucked over_ by everyone.”

 

“I _know_ , Oswald, but if you’ll—”

 

“And now you think that, that _kissing me_ , that saying that you love me, will get me to, to _what_ , Ed? I already said I trusted you, what more could you possibly want?” Oswald’s chest is heaving, and Ed just wants to place a hand on it, to calm Oswald down with soft pressure and hard kisses.

 

“I don’t have any motive, Oswald,” Ed says, fighting to keep his voice steady. “There’s nothing here but you and me, nothing else matters. Not the Narrows, not Lee, not Sofia. This is about you and me, Oswald. You said you trusted me, trust me in this, too. _Please_.”

 

“How?!” Oswald pleads, his voice still thick with pain. “How can I possibly trust you on this, Ed, when you’ve said over and over again that you could never love me?”

 

Ed sighs, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “I was upset with you, then. And, to be honest, in denial. I was angry and hurting and I didn’t understand, Oswald. But I do, now. And I know that I belong at your side, and you at mine. ‘You cannot have one without the other’—you said that to me. You were _right_.”

 

Oswald doesn’t respond, just stares at Ed, breathing hard.

 

“I _need_ you, Oswald,” Ed continues. “Just as _you_ need me.”

 

Oswald swallows hard—Ed watches his throat contract and release. Slowly, he shakes his head. “I don’t know if I _can_ , Ed,” he says, all the fight slowly seeping out of him. “I can trust you, I can work with you, but I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”

 

Ed nods, slowly, considering. He wilts, settling back down on his hard bed. “That’s okay,” he mutters. “It was worth a try.” Ed tries to smile over at Oswald, but winces instead. All the adrenaline had made him forget about the pain in his jaw, at least for a bit.

 

“Still hurts?” Oswald asks, walking gingerly over to Ed. His limp is worse, Ed notices suddenly.

 

“Yeah,” Ed says, gently massaging his jaw. “That tends to happen when a sadist takes a dentist drill to your teeth for the better part of an hour.”

 

“You could’ve given me up,” Oswald says, carefully, picking up the sopping washcloth again and wringing it out.

 

Ed shakes his head. “No. Not again. I’ve hurt you enough. We—we’ve hurt _each other_ enough.”

 

Oswald gulps and presses the now-cold damp cloth to Ed’s chin to finish cleaning off the remaining blood.

 

“Your limp is worse,” Ed mentions, after a minute of quiet scrubbing. “Did something happen?”

 

“ _Jerome Valeska_ ,” Oswald mutters, poison laced through the name that Ed is way too familiar with.

 

“Tell me,” Ed says, and Oswald does.

 

When Oswald finally finishes telling Ed about his time in Arkham— _this_ time in Arkham—Ed’s face is clean of blood and Oswald has been sitting next to him on the bed for about half an hour.

 

Besides the fact that Ed is furious, and _very close_ to just walking out of the door to burn Arkham to the ground, it’s comfortable. Being with Oswald is comforting and familiar, and Ed isn’t sure how he’s been without it for this long.

 

He’s been on edge since everything started happening between them, and now that he’s back with Oswald again, he feels relief coursing through his veins. He can breathe, he can relax, he can be himself. There’s no worry that he’s going to say the wrong thing, or freak Oswald out by saying what’s on his mind.

 

Ed can just _be_. And, as much as he’d still like to kiss Oswald, to feel the smaller man beneath him, he can live with this. As long as he’s by Oswald’s side, he can be happy.

 

In theory.

 

* * *

  

Oswald showers first, leaving Ed to peel off his blood-soaked suit in peace. The stained, formerly white button-down goes right into the trash, but he might be able to get the blood out of the shiny green suit jacket.

 

That’s a problem for later, though. Right now, Ed just wants to crash. He sets the jacket to soaking in the sink and strips out of his undershirt and suit pants, tossing them over the lone chair in the apartment. Oswald has taken his robe and a pair of clean underwear into the bathroom, since all the clothing he wore in Arkham should just be burned.

 

It’s a bit too cold to be standing around in just his underwear, but Ed also doesn’t want to put clean clothes on before he showers. He digs his pajamas and fresh underwear out of his dresser and perches at the edge of the bed, waiting for Oswald to finish in the bathroom.

 

His jaw still aches, the throbbing growing worse as the adrenaline leaves his body. He gently prods at his jaw, trying to massage out a bit of the pain. That seems to just make it worse, though, so he stops, leaning back on his hands, waiting.

 

The bathroom door opens suddenly, and Ed looks up to find Oswald stopping dead in the doorway, staring at him.

 

“Are you all done in there?” Ed asks, getting to his feet.

 

“Uh,” Oswald says, his eyes raking over Ed’s body. Oh. Whoops. “Yes…”

 

Ed smirks at him, getting up and deliberately brushing past him on the way into the bathroom. Maybe Ed can still make this work. He just has to be slow, teasing, meticulous. It’s clear that Oswald still has at least lingering feelings for Ed, past of course the trust that he keeps professing.

 

Ed just has to be _patient_. That, he can do.

 

It feels so good to shower, even with the lukewarm water of this dump of an apartment. He hasn’t showered enough in the past few months, not with his mental state. The water stings his face a bit, though, so he makes it quick, no matter how good it feels for the rest of him. Physically, and mentally.

 

He does feel clean, now. Finally. Clean and whole and clear-headed, for the first time in too long.

 

Ed sighs and gets out of the shower, toweling off and putting on his fresh, clean clothes. They feel soft against his skin, and he revels in the feeling for a minute. Here and there, bits of the old Ed poke through, in textures, favorite fabrics. The sensation of softness against his tingling skin.

 

When Ed leaves the bathroom, he finds Oswald on the ratty, worn couch, already half-asleep, drowning in Ed’s robe and a threadbare blanket he’d found. He peers up at Ed through heavy-lidded eyes, and then shuts them again, burying his face in the filthy pillow.

 

Ed winces. “Oswald, please take the bed,” he says. “You’ve been in Arkham. I’ll take the couch.”

 

“‘m fine,” Oswald mutters, pressing his face further into the couch pillow. “Already here.”

 

“Don’t make me carry you,” Ed threatens.

 

Oswald shoots up. “Don’t you _dare_ ,” he hisses.

 

Ed winks at him. “Are you going to move to the bed now?”

 

Oswald groans. “ _Fine_ ,” he snaps, and stands up. Before he starts over to the bed, he looks at Ed, his eyes flicking up and down Ed’s body. This time is slightly less charged than the last time he’d done it, because then his eyes move over to the couch. He seems to be mentally measuring and comparing the two sizes. “You are _not_ going to fit on the couch,” he says.

 

Ed had already come to the same conclusion, and had already resigned himself to sleeping bent almost in half, and being in even more pain later. Also, the couch is gross.

 

“The bed…” Oswald says, then stops. He takes a deep breath and continues, “The bed is big enough for both of us. I’m small, you’re skinny; we’ll both fit.”

 

Well, _that_ sounds like the best plan ever, but Ed reminds himself to be patient. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

 

Oswald groans, frustrated. “Just shut up and get in bed.” He makes his point even more clear by limping quickly across the room and settling down on one half, leaving enough space for Ed to lie comfortably on the other half.

 

Ed smiles to himself and flicks off the lightswitch before slipping under the covers next to Oswald. There really isn’t quite enough space for the two of them. Their shoulders touch, and there’s not much they can do with their arms except fold them over their respective chests.

 

“Goodnight, Oswald,” Ed says, grinning up into the dark.

 

Oswald sighs. “Goodnight, Ed.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ed wakes up warm and cozy, happiness buzzing through his body. There’s a comforting weight on his chest, and at first he thinks it’s a weighted blanket. But he left that behind, a long time ago. It’s not a blanket.

 

It’s _Oswald_.

 

Oswald’s head is resting on his chest, soft hair against his chin, hands clutching at his shirt. Ed wants to hold his breath, to stay in this moment forever, but Oswald stirs.

 

“Mmm?” Oswald mutters, nuzzling into Ed’s chest. He’s clearly not awake, and Ed _really hopes_ he either doesn’t realize he’s doing this, or doesn’t regret it later.

 

Ed doesn’t know how to proceed. Does he extricate himself? Does he stay and see what Oswald does when he does actually wake up?

 

The decision is made for him, in the form of Oswald’s eyes shooting open, followed by him snapping up to sitting. “Wha—”

 

Ed holds his hands up in surrender. It’s a familiar pose, and it’s getting to be a bit of a habit. “I woke up with you sleeping on me,” he says, trying not to sound defensive. “I didn’t do anything.”

 

Oswald sighs and sags, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s fine.”

 

That’s a relief, and Ed puts his hands down, sitting up himself and picking up his glasses from the bedside table. “What’s the plan for today?” he asks. His voice feels a bit muffled, his cheeks swollen and tender.

 

Oswald climbs over Ed, out of bed, and Ed tries not to think about Oswald on top of him. “The first things I need to get are clothes and my testosterone injections.”

 

“You gonna wear _that_ to get them?” Ed asks, gesturing at the robe that Oswald is swimming in. “Or do you want me to get them for you?”

 

Oswald clearly has not considered this, because he takes a few seconds to process the fact that all his clothes are in the garbage, and that all he has to wear are Ed’s too-large clothes. “Please, _Ed_ , won’t you get them for me?” Oswald asks, gritting his teeth through his annoyance.

 

Ed smiles brightly at him. “I’d be happy to! Where are they?”

 

Oswald gives him instructions and locations and backup plans; ie. if all his stashes of injections are out, which pharmacy to rob and the best way to do it.

 

“Once I have those,” Oswald says, “then we go get Martin.”

 

Ed nods and cobbles together an outfit from clean bits of his suit and his performance outfit from Cherry’s. It’s not quite as put-together as he’d like, but Oswald promises to try to get the blood out of Ed’s suit jacket while Ed is picking up his things, at least. At some point, Ed will need to get more clothes, as well.

 

For now, though, he has to get Oswald’s things together.

 

After wincing through brushing his teeth, Ed heads out. It goes smoothly, for once. He manages to get everything together, and he doesn’t even have to rob a pharmacy, since the first stash he finds has enough testosterone injections to last for a few months. He heads back to the apartment with a duffel full of Oswald’s clothes and needles.

 

Ed comes back in to find his suit clean and drying on the back of the chair and the bathroom door closed.

 

“Oswald?” he calls through the bathroom door. He hears water splashing around. Ah, Oswald is taking a bath.

 

“Yes, hold on!” Oswald calls back.

 

“No, you don’t have to get out! I’m just letting you know I’m back.”

 

Oswald flings the door open, the robe tied haphazardly around him, his hair dripping onto the floor. “Did you get everything?” he asks.

 

“I did,” Ed replies, nodding his head at the duffel. Oswald hurries over to it and pulls out a needle.

 

He lets out a sigh of relief. “They didn’t want to give me my injections in Arkham. They _did_ in the end, but only barely. It’s been…” Oswald trails off. “A little too long.” He looks down at the needle, considering.

 

“Would you...like help?” Ed asks, tentatively. He’s never sure how much help to offer Oswald. He knows there are some things he should _not_ ask about, but he’s unclear on the status of this one. Oswald had a doctor come to the mansion and administer the shot every two weeks, back when he was mayor. But now, he only has Ed.

 

Oswald sighs. “Probably would be best.” He hands Ed the needle and leans against the table, pulling his robe up to expose the underwear he’s borrowed from Ed, which are hanging a bit too loose on his smaller frame.

 

“Where…?”

 

Oswald points to a spot high on his butt, close to his hip. Ed nods and goes into the bathroom, getting a cotton ball and a bottle of rubbing alcohol to clean the spot. He hooks his finger gently into the waistband of the underwear, pulling it down just enough to get to the spot that Oswald had indicated.

 

Once the area is clean, Ed picks the needle up off the table, removing the safety tip and lining it up. “Ready?” he asks. Oswald nods, and Ed plunges the needle in. Oswald winces slightly, but doesn’t say anything. Ed presses down on the plunger, depositing the testosterone into Oswald’s system, before pulling the needle out.

 

Oswald lets out a sigh of relief, letting the robe fall back down. The hem brushes the floor and Ed swallows a smile at how large his robe is on Oswald. It’s _cute_ , even if saying so to Oswald might get Ed stabbed.

 

“That’s out of the way, at least,” Oswald says, rifling through the duffel again. He pulls out a garment bag, socks, underwear, shoes, and one of his silver-headed penguin canes. “I’m going to get dressed, and then we’ll go get Martin and I’ll take him out of town,” he explains, walking back into the bathroom.

 

“Where are we taking him?” Ed asks, poking at his suit jacket to see if it’s dry yet. It’s not.

 

“I have a fund,” Oswald calls through the slightly-ajar door. “Nobody knew about it, not even Victor. It’s enough to keep Martin in boarding school for a few years, plus a little extra. I can access it out of town, I’ll just need to steal a car once we pick up Martin.”

 

“Should be easy enough,” Ed says. “I’m assuming you already have a place in mind.” Oswald makes a noise of confirmation. “How long is the drive?”

 

“Shouldn’t be more than a few days each way, depending on how long I can stand being in the car for and how many stops I need to make,” Oswald replies.

 

Ed nods, even though Oswald can’t see him. “When do we leave?”

 

Oswald steps out of the bathroom, in one of his black-and-gray pinstriped tailcoat suits, leaning against his cane. Ed had almost forgotten how _good_ he looks in his suits.

 

“Whenever you’re ready. I don’t really have anything else to pack, I’ll just take that—” he points to the duffel— “and I’m good to go until I can access the fund.”

 

“Okay, I’ll pack a bag.” Ed gets up and heads over to his dresser.

 

“Wait, what?”

 

Ed looks up, catching Oswald’s confused expression. “I’m coming with you,” he says.

 

Oswald stares blankly at him. “Why?”

 

“Uh, why wouldn’t I?” Ed asks.

 

“You have— “

 

“ _Nothing_ ,” Ed says, cutting him off. “I’m not working with Lee anymore, and she’s got a good enough hold on the Narrows, anyway. What else do I have here for me? No, my place is at your side. I’m going with you and Martin. You’ll need breaks from driving, anyway.”

 

Oswald gapes at him for a few seconds before closing his mouth and nodding sharply. “Okay, fair enough.”

 

“Great!” Ed says, pulling his few possessions out of his drawers and tossing them into a trash bag. He’ll have to get more things...at least more suits. Definitely a suitcase. He digs his remaining cash out from where it’s hidden and counts it. It’s enough to get them out of the city and keep them fed until they can access whatever funds Oswald has stored away. “Okay, I’m good to go.” He slips his suit jacket on, even though it’s still a bit damp.

 

“That’s everything?” Oswald asks.

 

Ed nods. “Don’t have much, and we can pick more up on the way.” He waves the money in Oswald’s direction before shoving it into his jacket pocket.

 

“Lead the way,” Oswald orders. Ed nods, tossing the trash bag over his shoulder. Oswald picks up his duffel, and they make their way to where Ed stashed Martin.

 

It’s a long walk through the Narrows to get to a place where a cabbie will actually pick them up, and Ed can tell Oswald is trying not to complain. After all, they’re going to pick up _his_ —well, Ed had called him ‘Uncle’ to Martin, but it’s becoming clear that Oswald regards the kid more as a son than a nephew, even if he won’t say the words out loud. Ed will keep calling him ‘Uncle Penguin’ to Martin, though, until Oswald says otherwise.

 

Ed strolls boldly into the semi-abandoned warehouse, throwing his arms open wide. “Hello, kiddos! Did’ya miss me?” Nobody responds; the street kids who have taken over the building just stare at him.

 

Suddenly, a small blur runs past him, barreling into Oswald, who had entered the room behind him. Ed spins, finding Oswald on his knees, a small child—Martin—buried in his arms. Oh, no. Oh, Ed had not anticipated _this_ , but the sight of Oswald holding this _child_ is making Ed...feel. It’s so soft and tender and Ed feels his heart melt, just a bit.

 

“Are you okay?” Oswald asks. Martin nods, solemnly.

 

“I took him for ice cream,” Ed says, proudly.

 

“Did you get him real food?” Oswald asks.

 

Ed shrugs. “Ice cream is real food.”

 

“ _Ed_ ,” Oswald warns.

 

“Yes, I got him real food, Oswald, I’m not an idiot.” Ed, in fact, had gotten him a bag full of snacks, along with a sandwich for later. And he’d made sure to promise the street kids extra if they let him keep his food.

 

Oswald sighs, fond, and ruffles Martin’s curls. The gesture is so soft; much softer than anything Ed is used to from Oswald. “We have to get you out of Gotham, Martin. The bad people aren’t going to stop trying to use you to get to me.”

 

Martin scribbles something on his notepad, but Ed needs to step back from this. Oswald clearly cares deeply for this child, and Ed wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. Not that he doesn’t know that Oswald is capable of being gentle, being kind. But this is a whole other thing, and Ed feels himself falling, deeper and deeper.

 

Not that he wasn’t already in—in _love_ with Oswald, whatever that means for him, or for them. But this is just _too much_ , and Ed turns around to pay the other, older kids who had kept an eye on Martin for him while he was rescuing Oswald from Arkham.

 

As he’s finishing up, the door suddenly bursts open. Ed spins, staring down the barrel of Victor Zsasz’s guns. “Oh, sh—”

 

“Hey, boys,” Zsasz says, his signature grin on his face.

 

Ed growls. “How did you find us?”

 

“Simple,” Zsasz says, shrugging. “I followed you from the Narrows.”

 

Ed’s eyes flick down, finding Oswald practically wrapped around Martin, baring his teeth in a growl up at Zsasz. Ed steps around in front of them, placing his body in between them and Zsasz.

 

“Are you here to kill us?” Ed asks.

 

“Uh, _duh_ ,” Zsasz says, and aims at Ed’s face.

 

“Wait!” Ed says, holding his hands up in front of him. “Wait!” He racks his brain quickly, and then it hits him, all of a sudden: “Before you kill us, tell me why you betrayed Oswald in the first place! You were loyal to him, what changed?”

 

Zsasz drops the guns down by his side. “He killed Don Falcone.”

 

“ _What_?!” Oswald shouts, still on the floor, protecting Martin. “Victor, I told you, I didn’t kill him!”

 

“Then who did?” Zsasz asks.

 

“I don’t know!” Oswald yells back.

 

“Hold on, fellas,” Ed says, his hands still out in front of him. “Why don’t we give Jim Gordon a call? If anyone would know, he would.”

 

“Why don’t you just ask Sofia?” Oswald spits.

 

Zsasz raises a brow. “Oh, you didn’t hear? Doc shot her in the head. She’s in a coma, over in Arkham General. I’m just—” he waves his gun vaguely— “finishing what she asked me to do, which is _killing both of you_.” He raises his guns again.

 

“Wait, wait! We’re calling Jim, remember?” Ed asks, carefully reaching into his jacket to pull out his phone. He dials Jim, holding the phone out to Zsasz.

 

“ _What_ , Ed?” Jim’s voice comes out over the speakers, annoyed.

 

Zsasz slips one of his guns into the holster and takes the phone. “Jimbo! Victor Zsasz, on Nygma’s phone. Got a question for you: who killed Don Falcone?”

 

Ed hears a muffled response from Jim, but he can’t quite make it out. Zsasz quirks his brow at whatever he hears. He looks dubiously down at Oswald.

 

“Mmhmm,” Zsasz says, “and you’d tell me if it was Penguin, right?” Another muffled response from Jim. “Gotcha. You’re sure? Okay, thanks.” He snaps the phone shut and tosses it back to Ed. He stares at them for a few seconds, and Ed can almost see the cogs ticking away in his head. He seems to come to a decision, because he says, “Well, I’ll see you guys later!” and turns to walk out.

 

“Wait!” Oswald calls after Zsasz’s retreating form. “Who killed him?”

 

Zsasz glances back over his shoulder. “Sofia.”

 

“I _knew it_!” Oswald crows. “Victor?” Zsasz sighs and turns back around fully to face them. “Are we okay?”

 

Zsasz looks between Oswald, Martin, and Ed. “I’m not gonna try to kill you, Oswald, if that’s what you mean. Not going back to sleeping with you either, though.”

 

“WHAT?” Ed yells.

 

“Victor!” Oswald snaps, covering Martin’s ears. “Really?!”

 

“Not yet, at least,” Zsasz says, winking. “As for the rest—” he shrugs— “we’ll see. Toodles!” He saunters out, silence falling behind him.

 

Oswald sighs and uncovers Martin’s ears. “You okay?” he asks. Martin nods, fast and sharp. “Good.” He glances up at Ed. “Anything you want to ask me?”

 

Ed swallows. “Nope. None of my business.” Oswald raises an eyebrow at him. Okay, okay, Ed really does want to ask. “Zsasz?? Really?”

 

“ _Yup_ ,” Oswald says. “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

 

Is it? Ed doesn’t know. Right now, it won’t be, but if they have to work with Zsasz in the future...he’s just not sure. Hopefully by that point, if it comes to pass, Ed will _have_ Oswald, fully and completely.

 

“No,” he says, finally. “Do you still think we need to take Martin out of Gotham, with Sofia out of commission?”

 

“Yes,” Oswald says. “Even if she never comes out of her coma, I still have enemies, as you well know. Any of them would have no qualms about using Martin against me. I need to get him to safety, where I know nobody can get to him.”

 

That sounds reasonable, and Ed agrees with his conclusion. “I’m gonna go get us a car.” Oswald nods, and Ed turns and walks out, on the hunt for a car.

 

* * *

  

An hour into the drive and Martin is passed out in the backseat. Oswald has been staring out of the window since they started, after a fight with Ed about who was going to drive. Ed won, mainly because he got Oswald to admit that his legs are sore and that driving would make them worse.

 

“Sitting in a car for hours in any case will make them worse,” he’d said, but he _did_ admit that driving hurts. Ed counts that as a victory; getting Oswald to admit anything physically pains him is like pulling teeth—oh, Ed really needs a new metaphor for that, at least right now.

 

His mouth is still swollen, his cheeks deep red and vaguely chipmunk-like. Everything is tender and aching, even with the handful of painkillers he’d swallowed earlier that day. He needs a distraction.

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks Oswald quietly, so as not to wake Martin.

 

“Hmm? Oh, just thinking.”

 

“About…?” Ed prods.

 

“Sofia killed her father,” Oswald says. “I should have known it was her. I knew she had it in her but…”

 

“Yeah, what was the deal with you two, anyway?” Ed asks.

 

Oswald turns his torso so he can stare at Ed. “What do you mean?”

 

Ed shrugs. “You were close?”

 

“Not in the same way Victor and I were close,” Oswald says, “if that’s what you’re asking. I’m _gay_ , Ed, I’m not into women.”

 

“Good to know, but not my whole question,” Ed says. “She got to you, in a way that nobody else has been able to, since—”

 

“Since _you_?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Oswald sighs, turning back to stare out the window, resting his head against the glass. “She figured me out, Ed. All of it. Everything she could use to hurt me, she found. She’s a master of manipulation, truly.”

 

“Well, at least she’s out of the way,” Ed says.

 

Oswald nods. “In a coma, not dead, though.”

 

Ed shrugs. “If she comes out of it, we’ll kill her.”

 

“ _We_?” Oswald asks.

 

“Yeah, _we_ ,” Ed confirms. “I meant it, that I’m at your side. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Oswald falls silent for a minute, watching the highway scenery fly past. Then, to Ed’s surprise, he starts telling Ed exactly what Sofia did. Exactly how she used him. Exactly how she destroyed him.

 

And, _oh_ , it hurts.

 

* * *

  

Somewhere around hour four, Oswald falls asleep and Martin wakes up. Ed sees the kid bounce slightly in the backseat, and then lean forward.

 

“Hey, little buddy,” Ed says, glancing back at him quickly in the rearview mirror. “You need a pee break?” Martin nods. “How about some food?” Another nod. “Okay, hold tight, we’ve got a rest stop coming up in a few miles, I’ll stop there.”

 

Martin settles back into the seat, gazing out the window, a mirror of how Oswald had looked, earlier. It’s funny, how much the boy has picked up from Oswald in such a short time. Ed glances over at his sleeping friend. He’d never have thought Oswald would be the parental type, but here they are, ferrying this boy to safety.

 

This all feels achingly like everything Ed has ever wanted. He’s always been a hopeless romantic—emphasis on the _hopeless_. But, here, maybe, he’s found something that fits him. Something that fits him where he is _now_ , and also where he wants to go.

 

Even when he was working with Oswald before, living at the mansion, he didn’t feel it this strongly. Possibly because he hadn’t yet realized the depths of his feelings for Oswald, or maybe because the two of them still had to figure themselves out, before they could—Ed has to remind himself that he doesn’t _have_ Oswald yet, not really.

 

That maybe Oswald still has some figuring out to do. Ed isn’t too worried, though. He’s hopeful, for the first time in a while. Oswald loved him once before, and all Ed has to do is be patient, and Oswald will come back around.

 

After all, Oswald _gave up his revenge_ for Ed. It was awful, what Sofia did to him. Now that Ed has heard the full story, he’s even more in disbelief about Oswald choosing to save him over killing Sofia.

 

He’s also ready to break into her hospital room and pull the plug, but that will just have to wait until they get back to Gotham. It’s not just her, either—Ed is ready to rip Jerome Valeska to pieces, as well. _Nobody_ touches Oswald and gets to keep their extremities. And especially nobody gets to tell their cronies to target Oswald’s most vulnerable spots—his legs—and keep their head.

 

The rest stop approaches, and Ed pulls off the highway, pulling into the closest space to the building he can find. They don’t have a placard, so Oswald will have to walk a little farther, but it’s better than their—admittedly stolen—car being towed while they’re inside.

 

Martin unclips his seatbelt and sticks his head in between the front seats.

 

“You want to wake Uncle Penguin or should I?” Ed asks. Martin points at Ed. That’s clear enough, and Ed reaches out to carefully wake Oswald up.

 

Oswald gasps awake with a yelp. Ed guesses he wasn’t careful enough, or maybe Oswald was just having bad dreams. Either way, Ed’s heart aches.

 

“Hey, Oswald, it’s just me,” Ed says. “We’re at a rest stop, thought you might want food and a bathroom break.”

 

Oswald sucks in a deep breath and digs his hands into his thighs, wincing. “Fine, yeah, okay. You two go ahead, I’ll meet you inside.”

 

“We can wait until you’re able to stand,” Ed offers. Martin nods emphatically.

 

Oswald grumbles wordlessly a bit, still not fully awake, but accepts Ed’s offer of waiting. They all sit quietly while Oswald massages his legs. Ed would offer to help with that, too, but he knows Oswald would turn him down in a place as public as this. Maybe elsewhere, too, but definitely here.

 

“Good enough,” Oswald finally says, grabbing his cane from where it had fallen between the seat and the door. He gets out of the car gingerly, putting his weight on his left leg, then his right, before standing up fully, still leaning heavily on his cane.

 

“Onwards!” Ed exclaims, pointing dramatically towards the doorway of the rest stop building. Martin smiles slightly and bounces a bit as he follows Ed, Oswald trailing a step behind.

 

Bathrooms are the first order of business, and Ed and Martin head directly for the men’s room, while Oswald tugs on the handle of the accessible restroom. It’s locked, and Oswald frowns at it.

 

“Occupied?” Ed asks, stopping in the doorway of the men’s room. Oswald nods and reluctantly follows him into the men’s room. Ed walks over to use the urinal, Martin at the one next to him, as Oswald figures out that one stall is out of order and the door on the other one doesn’t close properly.

 

A meltdown is definitely imminent, and Ed hurries to finish so he can try to stave it off. “Oswald, _Oswald_ , I can hold the door shut for you,” Ed offers, zipping his fly and stalking over to the sink to wash his hands.

 

But Oswald shakes his head and waves Ed off. “I’ll wait for the accessible one,” he growls, and storms out of the restroom.

 

Ed sighs, and dries his hands as Martin comes over to the sink to wash his. “Your Uncle Penguin’s having a bad day, kiddo.”

 

Martin nods and takes the paper towels that Ed holds out to him to dry his hands.

 

When they exit the men’s room, Oswald is still waiting outside the accessible restroom, glowering.

 

“Did you knock?” Ed asks.

 

“Of _course_ I knocked,” Oswald snaps. “ _Just a minute_ ,” he repeats in a mocking tone, turning to glare even harder at the door, as if that will get the person inside to move faster.

 

“Do you want us to wait with you?” Ed asks, but Oswald shakes his head firmly.

 

“Just get me a cheeseburger,” Oswald snaps, holding up a hand and gesturing for Ed and Martin to go away.

 

They do, waiting in line at the fast-food place. “Okay, kiddo,” Ed says, “what do you want?”

 

Martin looks up at the menu and starts scribbling on his pad. He rips the page off when he’s done and hands it to Ed.

 

“You sure?” Ed asks, looking between the list and Martin. “That’s a lot of food.” Martin nods, and Ed shrugs. “Okay, whatever.”

 

Ed orders everything on Martin’s list, a BLT for himself, and a cheeseburger for Oswald, plus various sodas. The order comes out in two large bags and a drink tray. Ed gives Martin the drinks to carry as they walk over to the seating area to find a table. Martin walks carefully, so as not to spill anything, and Ed slows to a crawl to not leave the kid in the dust.

 

The timing all works out; as soon as they sit down at a table and start arranging food, Oswald emerges from the accessible restroom and spots them, making his way over. He looks slightly calmer, and even more so as he sits down without a word, accepting the cheeseburger that Ed hands to him, and shoving it in his mouth.

 

Oswald is a messy eater, and Ed grins at him, watching Oswald devour the meal.

 

“What?” Oswald asks, his mouth full of food.

 

Ed shrugs. “Just glad you’re eating. You can’t have had good food in Arkham.”

 

Oswald shakes his head, taking a sip of soda through his bite of food. He swallows and says, “The food didn’t get any better since you’ve been out.”

 

“Didn’t think it would,” Ed says, unable to stop smiling, even though it hurts his sore jaw almost as much as chewing does. He remembers their first few weeks together, stuck in Ed’s apartment while Oswald recovered from that gunshot wound. How they would eat breakfast and dinner together, how they would sing together and talk and...and, oh, that’s when Ed fell in love, he realizes all of a sudden.

 

Back then, it had just felt like friendship—something Ed hadn’t really experienced quite in that way before. But now, looking back on it, that’s when Ed fell for Oswald.

 

They weren’t ready then; neither of them were. It may have taken betrayal, murder, and coming back around to friendship for them to be ready, but Ed is glad, at least, that he’s back at Oswald’s side.

 

Oswald finishes inhaling his burger, and looks over at the pile of food in front of Martin. “Ed, did you get him _three_ meals?”

 

“Oh,” Ed says, glancing over at Martin struggling to finish just one of the meals Ed had bought for him. “Maybe?”

 

Oswald shakes his head. “There’s no way he’s going to be able to finish all of that.”

 

“He wanted it all,” Ed insists.

 

Martin looks between them and then scribbles on his pad. He holds it up to show a drawing of a thick-walled box and a bag of ice, with an arrow indicating that the ice goes into the box.

 

“Yes, we can see if the convenience store has a cooler, and at least some ice,” Oswald says. “Good thinking, Martin.”

 

Martin blinks up at him and then takes a big sip of his soda, making a big slurping noise. He seems very pleased with himself for that, and Ed laughs.

 

“How about you, little buddy? You like the food?”

 

Martin nods and gives Ed a thumbs-up.

 

Even Oswald smiles slightly, and Ed counts that as a win. He and Martin might be able to bring Oswald out of his funk, at least temporarily. Plus, Ed has some ideas about car seating arrangements that might help.

 

“Oswald,” Ed says, “how would you feel about stretching out in the backseat when we get back on the road? Martin can sit up front with me, and you can put your leg up, maybe ice it a bit?”

 

“You don’t need me to drive?” Oswald asks.

 

“No, no, I got it,” Ed insists. “I don’t mind driving; I can go the whole way if need be.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“ _Yes_ , Oswald.”

 

Oswald sighs and leans back in his chair. “Okay, fine. Let’s raid the convenience store and keep going. I want to get further away from Gotham before we stop for the night.”

 

Ed nods and picks up the table, packing the uneaten food into one of the bags and handing it to Martin. “Can you carry this for me?” Martin nods, clutching onto it tightly. “Thank you.” Ed throws the trash away and then stands next to the table, waiting for Oswald to make his way to his feet.

 

Grumbling, Oswald gets up, relying on his cane a lot more than Ed has previously noticed. Ed is absolutely going to _eviscerate_ Jerome later.

 

“We can get some painkillers,” Ed suggests as they walk into the convenience store.

 

“Nothing works for me anymore,” Oswald says. “I’d need toxic levels of them to feel anything, or prescriptions that are either too hard to get or make me foggy.”

 

Ah, crud. At least the convenience store has both styrofoam coolers and ice, and Ed snags a cooler and throws a few bags of ice into it, tucking it under his arm. “Okay, what else do you two gentlemen want?”

 

Martin makes a beeline for a big metal freezer that advertises ice cream. He reaches into it, pulling out a popsicle shaped like a penguin and waving it at Oswald.

 

“Is that me?” Oswald asks, the corner of his mouth curving up in a smile. Ed has never seen anything quite so lovely. Oswald’s smile grows, watching Martin nod emphatically and hold the popsicle out to him.

 

Ed’s heart hurts with the loveliness of the scene in front of him. Oswald is radiant—a sharp contrast after being a storm cloud the whole day. Not that Ed doesn’t adore the thunderstorm that is Oswald Cobblepot. But, something about Oswald smiling without inhibition tugs at his heartstrings.

 

Ed so badly wants to reach out, to wrap an arm around Oswald’s shoulders, but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. He doesn’t want to break the magic of this small sliver of sunshine, peeking through the clouds.

 

The moment passes, as Oswald and Martin load up on snacks. Ed snags a bottle of whiskey, too, for later. It will mostly like help Oswald sleep, and might be a decent enough stand-in for painkillers. Then, with their arms full of food, they head back to the car.

 

Luckily, Ed had been able to steal the keys along with the car, so it hasn’t been sitting there unlocked the whole time. He pops the trunk, storing the whiskey and a few other snacks in there. The rest go on the floor of the backseat so as to be easily accessed, especially the ice.

 

Oswald settles into the backseat, sitting with his side pressed up against the left door and his right leg propped up on the seat. As Ed and Martin get comfortable up front, Oswald pulls out one of the bags of ice and plops it down on his right ankle, letting out a heavy sigh of relief.

 

“You good?” Ed asks, glancing at Oswald in the rearview mirror. Oswald nods, and Ed backs out of the space, getting back on the road.

 

* * *

 

Another hour into the drive, Oswald falls asleep again. Martin turns his whole body to look, as soft snores fill the car. Then he turns back around and starts scribbling on his pad. He holds up the paper, so Ed can glance over at it without taking his eyes off the road for too long.

 

“Are you + Uncle [ _drawing of a penguin_ ] married?” Martin asks, in small, neat handwriting.

 

Ed almost chokes. He whacks his chest to clear his throat, and to give himself a minute to answer. “No,” he says. “We’re not.” He just barely stops himself from adding, ‘Yet.’

 

Martin considers this for a minute before Ed hears the pen scratching again. Martin holds up the pad: “Do you love him?” he asks.

 

“Yes,” Ed answers, without hesitation.

 

More scribbling, and then: “Does he love you?”

 

“I hope so, kiddo,” Ed says, glancing quickly in the rearview mirror at Oswald, still asleep in the backseat, his mouth slightly open. “I hope so.”

 

* * *

  

Everyone is awake when Ed finally pulls into the motel. The sun is setting, and Ed thinks _he_ could keep going, but Oswald has started to actively complain, and nobody’s sure when they’d pass another motel. So, Ed drives up, parking as close to the front desk as possible.

 

It takes another few minutes for Oswald to fight his legs into supporting him. Ed offers to just go in and get the room, but Oswald has some things he needs to ask about, so he wants to be there.

 

The guy at the front desk is clearly bored out of his mind, but he perks up when the interesting assortment of people that is Ed, Oswald, and Martin, walk into his lobby.

 

“We need a room,” Oswald says, “an accessible one. With two beds, or a king-sized bed.”

 

The guy nods, flipping through the book in front of him. “Sorry,” he says, after checking his records, “we don’t have any handicapped rooms available tonight.”

 

Oswald grinds his teeth; Ed isn’t sure if it’s about the word or the lack of rooms.

 

“Okay,” Oswald continues. “Do your rooms at least have bathtubs?”

 

The man shakes his head. “Just showers.”

 

“Shower chairs?” Oswald asks, seething.

 

Another negative from the man.

 

Oswald lets out an annoyed breath.

 

“We can get back on the road and try the next place we find,” Ed suggests.

 

“There’s not another motel for an hour and a half,” the clerk tells them.

 

“ _Fine_ ,” Oswald spits. “What _do_ you have?”

 

“I can give you a king.”

 

Oswald looks up at Ed, who nods. That’ll work—it’s a much bigger bed than the two of them slept on together last night, and there will be more than enough space for Martin as well. As for the shower, well, they’ll figure something out.

 

“We’ll take it,” Oswald confirms.

 

Ed pays up front, taking the keys and confirming the room number. It’s a bit far away from the front desk, so Ed piles them back into the car and drives over to get closer so Oswald doesn’t have to walk as far, even though he insists he’ll be fine.

 

He’s already in enough pain, Ed wants to save him what little effort he can. Oswald is back to being a storm cloud, and Ed can sense the rain coming. Or maybe hail. Whatever it is, it’s going to involve yelling, probably. Ed is trying to be the calm one, but he’s frustrated.

 

Oswald is already in _so_ much pain, Ed had hoped he’d be able to soak in a warm bath, or at least sit down and let hot water ease his aching muscles. But it looks like Oswald is just going to have to continue to hurt.

 

Well, Ed won’t stand for that. He ushers Oswald and Martin up the fight of stairs and into the room, depositing Oswald’s duffel bag on the bed, and then goes back down to get everything else. He finishes unloading the important things into the motel room, and starts arranging what he can, pulling his pajamas out of his trash bag of clothes and setting them out.

 

Martin heads into the bathroom first, making a sad face and tugging at his hair. Once he’s gone, Oswald flops back onto the bed, with a soft, “ _Fuck_.”

 

“You want your pajamas?” Ed asks, zipping open the duffel.

 

“Yeah, and there should be a pair for Martin in there, too. Toss those in the bathroom for him?”

 

Ed does as he’s told, opening the bathroom door a crack and reaching around to drop the clothes on the floor for when Martin is done. Then he deposits Oswald’s pajamas next to the man’s prone form.

 

Oswald cracks open an eyelid, and then shuts it again. “I’m not moving,” he says sullenly. “I’m never moving again.”

 

Ed shrugs and starts stripping to change into his pajamas. “I can’t stop you,” he says.

 

“Don’t try to move me.”

 

“Wasn’t planning on it. There’s enough room there for me _and_ Martin.”

 

“Good,” Oswald says.

 

“Good,” Ed repeats.

 

Oswald cracks an eyelid again, catching Ed in just pajama pants. He opens his eyes fully, his gaze flicking down to Ed’s bare chest and back up. Ed watches him, amused.

 

“Like what you see?” Ed asks, smirking.

 

That gets him an eye roll, but no denial. Ed will take the win.

 

Oswald winces, slowly pushing up to seated and once again digging his fingers into his thighs. Ed’s mood falls.

 

“Jerome _really_ did a number on you in Arkham.”

 

Oswald nods, wincing as his fingers press on tight muscles. Ed remembers the bottle of whiskey and digs it out, uncapping it and handing it over. Oswald accepts it gratefully, taking a gulp straight from the bottle and passing it back. Ed takes a smaller sip and replaces the cap, putting it down on the side table.

 

“You’re worse than I thought,” he continues. “Your legs, I mean. They weren’t this bad before.”

 

“Yes, _thank you_ ,” Oswald says. “I’m aware.”

 

“What can I do?” Ed asks. When Oswald doesn’t reply, Ed starts throwing out suggestions. “We can take it slower tomorrow: stop at more rest stops, get out to walk around every hour or so.”

 

But Oswald shakes his head at that. “I just want to get through this and get Martin somewhere safe.”

 

“Are you a little better after stretching out in the backseat? We can do that again tomorrow.”

 

Oswald nods. “Probably a good idea.”

 

“And we’ll find you a motel with a bathtub tomorrow,” Ed promises. “Even if we have to stop a little earlier.”

 

Oswald clearly wants to protest, but he sighs instead. “Yeah, fine.”

 

“How about a massage?”

 

Silence. Oswald blinks at him. Ed realizes suddenly that he is still lacking a shirt, and he grabs it from the bureau behind him as he continues, “I’m great with my hands. You can tell me where it hurts and I’ll do as much as I can to help.”

 

“ _Ed_ ,” Oswald says, almost pleading. “You know that’s—”

 

“Yeah, Oswald, that’s what she did to get to you. I know that. But, it’s _me_ ,” Ed says. “I’m not asking anything of you, and I’m not trying to manipulate you. You know that—you know me. I just want to help you.”

 

Oswald swallows hard, blinking his eyes rapidly. Ed meets his watery gaze steadily.

 

“Let me help you, Oswald. _Please_. I can’t bear to see you in this much pain.”

 

“I’m always in pain, Ed,” Oswald says. He clears his throat, turning away and grabbing his pajamas. He throws off his jacket and vest and starts to unbutton his dress shirt. “I can handle it.”

 

Ed strides over to the bed, kneeling at the foot of it, where Oswald’s knees are bent and hanging over the edge. He places his hands lightly on Oswald’s thighs. “I _know_ you can handle it,” he says, to Oswald’s shell-shocked expression. “But you don’t have to do it alone. You said you trust me, Oswald. So _trust me_.”

 

“ _Stop_ ,” Oswald mutters. Ed starts to remove his hands, but Oswald grabs onto them before he can, and directs them to the sides of his thighs. “Stop talking,” Oswald says. “Get to work.”

 

Ed ducks his head to hide a smile, and starts kneading Oswald’s legs. The tight, corded muscles twitch under his fingertips, spasms radiating out. Oswald winces, but doesn’t tell Ed to stop. Ed keeps going, keeping his attention focused on his task as Oswald strips out of his dress shirt and replaces it with his pajama top.

 

The bathroom door opens, steam pouring out, and Martin steps back into the bedroom. His hair drips onto his shoulders and the carpet, and he shakes his head like a dog, water spraying everywhere.

 

Oswald laughs, and then winces at a spasm under Ed’s fingertips. “Use a towel to dry your hair, Martin,” he says. Martin nods and goes back into the bathroom for his towel. He doesn’t look surprised or concerned by the scene in front of him, just jumps onto the bed next to his Uncle Penguin, rubbing the towel through his curls. “Good, good,” Oswald says, patting the boy’s shoulder.

 

Martin scrambles over to the bedside table, where he’d left his pen and paper, and writes a question: “Can I help?” He shows it to Ed and Oswald, his eyes wide.

 

“No, it’s f—”

 

“Yeah, kiddo,” Ed says, cutting Oswald off. “You take his left leg, I’ll take the right, and we’ll work together!”

 

“That’s o—”

 

“Shh,” Ed says, putting a finger up to Oswald’s lips. “Move up on the bed.” He makes shooing motions until Oswald, rolling his eyes, pulls himself higher up on the bed so his legs aren’t dangling over the edge anymore.

 

Martin looks at Ed expectantly, waiting to be shown what to do. Ed demonstrates, alternating between pressing fingertips and knuckles along the sides of Oswald’s legs. Martin nods and copies him. Oswald’s left leg isn’t quite as bad as his right, which is why Ed told Martin to take that leg.

 

A few minutes into working silently, Ed encounters a particularly stubborn knot on the right leg. He can’t get it to release with the techniques he’s been using. After a couple seconds of ineffectually working on it, he wraps both hands around Oswald’s upper thigh and uses that as leverage to press his thumbs insistently against the muscle.

 

Oswald yelps, reaching out and gripping onto Ed’s forearm. Ed tries to release his hold, but Oswald shakes his head. “No, keep going.”

 

Ed presses in again, Oswald gritting his teeth to muffle another yelp. The muscle under Ed’s thumbs spasms sharply, and then slows, and then stops. Oswald sucks in a breath and lets it out in a huff.

 

“Okay, that’s enough for tonight,” he says, brushing off Ed’s and Martin’s hands.

 

Oswald rubs his palms along the sides of his legs quickly, then scoots off the end of the bed, picking up his pajama pants and walking over to the bathroom. His limp is slightly better; he’s less stiff, even though his legs must be tender after all that. Before he walks fully into the bathroom, he stops, turning to face Ed and Martin. “Thank you both,” he says, and disappears into the bathroom.

 

“Good teamwork, little man,” Ed says. Martin nods solemnly at him.

 

Ed lies down, stretching out on the bed, giving his own limbs a rest. His legs are a bit sore from driving; he’s too lanky to be cramped into that small car for that long. He’ll get through it, though, for Oswald and Martin. And with probably less pain than Oswald is having to deal with.

 

Still, it feels nice to spread his long limbs out on the soft bed. He turns his head to look at Martin, who is now on his stomach, leaning his chin on his folded hands, watching Ed. They look at each other for a moment, and then Martin grabs his pad out from under him, writing something.

 

“Uncle [ _drawing of a penguin_ ] is in pain because of me?”

 

“What?” Ed asks, rolling onto his side. “No! No, of course not!”

 

Martin just points emphatically at his paper, and then over at the bathroom, as if to say, “But he’s in pain!”

 

“Someone...hurt him.”

 

Martin scribbles, showing Ed a rushed drawing of what Ed assumes is him and Martin, each holding a knife.

 

“Yeah, I feel that, buddy,” Ed says. “Just know that it’s not your fault, it’s someone else’s fault. I know that you’re his priority right now. He had me make sure you were safe _before_ I broke him out of Arkham. Getting you somewhere secure is the most important thing, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

 

Martin thinks on this for a bit, and then nods.

 

By the time Oswald gets out of the bathroom, Martin has fallen asleep, clutching tight to his notepad. Ed had to force himself up to tuck Martin under the covers. The boy looks even smaller than he is, drowning in the middle of the large bed.

 

Oswald’s hair is damp, sticking up in all directions as Oswald towels it dry in the light spilling out of the bathroom. Ed watches him silently.

 

Ed’s emotions are all over the place. He feels warm and tender, murderous and full of rage. He _loves_ Oswald, and he’s growing to care for Martin so quickly. But he’s furious at the people who _dared_ to hurt Oswald and Martin.

 

Ed stands up and walks over to lean in the doorway of the bathroom. Oswald catches his gaze in the mirror as he brushes his teeth, raising an eyebrow in a silent question. Ed wants so badly to step up behind Oswald, to press himself against the other man’s back, to wrap his arms around him.

 

“Martin is asleep,” Ed says, instead. “He’s worried that this is his fault—you being in pain, I mean.”

 

Oswald spits the toothpaste into the sink, rubbing at his mouth. “What did you tell him?”

 

“The truth,” Ed says. “That someone hurt you, and that he’s your first priority.”

 

“Good,” Oswald says. He turns to face Ed, leaning heavily against the sink. “I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow.”

 

Ed feels something building, sparking between him and Oswald. The air buzzes, sharp and so thick Ed can almost _see_ it.

 

“ _Oswald_ —” Ed starts to say, but Oswald holds up a hand. Ed falls silent again.

 

“You’re correct,” Oswald says. “Martin _is_ my priority right now. I can’t—anything else would be too much. Whatever you want to say, can it wait?”

 

“It can wait,” Ed says. He can wait forever, although he hopes he doesn’t have to.

 

Oswald nods and pushes off the sink, brushing past Ed on his way out into the bedroom. “Bathroom is yours. Goodnight, Ed.”

 

“Goodnight, Oswald.” _I love you_.

 

Ed gets ready for bed quickly; he’ll shower in the morning. Then he climbs into bed, he and Oswald curled up on either side of Martin, and falls asleep.


	2. Family of Outcasts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road trip continues and they reach their destination. The family argues and grows closer. Ed and Oswald sneak out of their room to take advantage of an empty hot tub while Martin sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that the rating has changed and a few tags have been added.
> 
>  **A note, added 4/9/18** : it has been pointed out to me by a kind reader that some of the language i use in describing Oswald's genitals while he and Ed are fooling around may be triggering for some people. At no point is he misgendered, but please be aware and take care of yourself.

The next morning, Ed wakes to find that the three of them have all moved together in the night; Martin is sandwiched between him and Oswald. Ed has never felt _family_ this strongly before, and he’s not awake enough for the way his heart lurches in his chest.

 

Settling down and having kids has always been a bit of a pipe dream for Ed. It was something that, yeah, he probably wanted, but it seemed just out of reach. The reasons changed, but it never felt like something he was _allowed_.

 

And, okay, so maybe he will never get to experience the traditional idea of settling down and having kids. He and Oswald will never have typical careers, will never join the PTA and run bake sales for Martin’s class. Ed isn’t even sure how much they’ll be able to _see_ Martin, or if they’ll have to cut as many ties as possible to keep him safe.

 

This morning, though, Ed lets his imagination run wild. He lets himself dream about domesticity: about family dinners and report cards, about chess tournaments and science fairs. He dreams of a townhouse in Gotham, or maybe Oswald’s family mansion. He dreams of a _home_.

 

But, Ed can never have that. He’s past the quiet life, now, and forever. Especially in Gotham. He and Oswald could never have that level of safety, ever again. They both have too many enemies and too much standing against them. Reality comes crashing down—along with the throbbing pain in his jaw—reminding him that he doesn’t even have Oswald yet.

 

Oswald is here, so close, and yet still just out of Ed’s reach. They’re in this dance together, always stepping forward and pulling back, always just missing each other. This time, though, Ed will wait. He’ll stick around, and see this through to the end.

 

As if hearing his thoughts, Oswald’s eyes flutter open, meeting Ed’s gaze automatically.

 

“Hi,” Oswald says, keeping his voice low.

 

Ed smiles at him. “Good morning,” he replies, also being careful not to wake Martin. “How did you sleep?”

 

“Out like a light. You?”

 

“Slept like the dead.”

 

Oswald peers at him in the semi-darkness. “Is that stubble or bruising on your face?” he asks.

 

Ed runs a finger along his cheek, feeling only a slight scratching. “Bit of both?” he ventures.

 

Oswald hisses sympathetically. “You might want to ice that later,” he suggests.

 

“Probably,” Ed says. He’s not too worried; it’ll go away eventually. It doesn’t hurt enough to have damaged his jaw permanently. He’ll just have a swollen, bruised face for a bit. Admittedly, Ed is a bit vain, but there’s nobody he’ll see that he cares about except for Oswald and Martin.

 

Ed watches blurrily as Oswald carefully extricates himself from around the sleeping boy and heads into the bathroom. His limp, from the vague motion Ed can see without his glasses, seems slightly better this morning, even though Oswald is still walking more gingerly than usual. Maybe they can both get back to baseline together, healing from their various new injuries in tandem.

 

Following suit, Ed moves slowly so as not to disturb Martin, and then heads out to find the ice machine. He gets ice to refill the cooler, and some for his face. When he gets back into the room, Oswald is half-dressed and Martin is sitting up sleepily, rubbing at his eyes.

 

Ed pulls the leftover fast food and various sodas and perishable snacks out of the almost-melted ice in the cooler, and dumps the rest of the contents into the shower, replacing it with the fresh ice. He picks one cube up and presses it against his cheek as he pulls together his clothes for the day.

 

Breakfast, the three of them sitting in a circle on the bed, consists of cold fast food and bags of chips they’d picked up at the rest stop convenience store, and Ed promises that they’ll stop somewhere good for lunch. Oswald just nods, unconcerned. He seems to be in a better mood today, and Ed hopes that continues. Ed eats with one hand, switching the melting ice from one cheek to the other.

 

When they finish eating, Oswald turns to Martin. “Ed tells me you think I blame you for the amount of pain I’m currently in.”

 

Martin’s eyes widen and he looks at Ed, upset. “He deserved to know,” Ed says. Martin looks back at Oswald.

 

“Ed was right, Martin,” Oswald says. “I _do not_ blame you. I don’t want you to feel bad about this, and I didn’t mean to make you think that. I am doing this to keep you safe, and that’s what matters.”

 

Martin grabs his pad and writes: “But it’s because of me?”

 

“Absolutely _not_ ,” Oswald insists. He heaves a heavy sigh. “Martin, I—like you, I think—have had this disability since birth. I am used to it, even as it gets frustrating to navigate at times. Yes, I am in more pain than usual right now, because of circumstances that have nothing to do with you. Yes, being stuck in a car for long hours exacerbates it. But what I don’t want is for you to feel bad, or think I blame you for any of it. I _am_ taking you to safety, that is non-negotiable. My pain will lessen, or it won’t, but it is my choice, and _not your fault_.”

 

Martin practically leaps across the bed, landing in Oswald’s lap and wrapping his arms tight around Oswald’s neck. Oswald freezes for a second, and then returns the hug, gathering Martin up in a tight embrace.

 

Ed smiles at the two of them, feeling warm. Oswald catches his eye and the corner of his mouth tips up. The three of them sit like that for a minute, until Ed can’t take it anymore: his heart is full to bursting, and he has to _do something_ with all of these feelings.

 

He throws himself in the pile, taking care not to land on Oswald’s legs, and pretends to be an over-large puppy, nuzzling against his two boys. Martin opens his mouth in a silent laugh as Oswald chuckles and runs his hand through Ed’s hair.

 

“Good boy,” Oswald teases. “Roll over.”

 

Ed rolls over onto his back, holding his hands up in approximation of paws, panting like a dog. Oswald ruffles his hair more; Ed rubs up against his hand. Martin detaches from Oswald to jump on top of Ed, pretending to be a dog as well. Ed laughs, loud and reckless, carefully play-wrestling with Martin while Oswald watches and grins.

 

Today is going to be a good day, Ed can feel it in his bones.

 

* * *

 

 

Oswald starts off in the backseat today, stretching out across the seats while Ed re-packs the car. They set out again, and Ed turns on the radio. They rested yesterday, all of them exhausted from the whirlwind of the last few days. Today, they’re all awake and alert.

 

Okay, maybe Ed could stand to get a bit more rest, but he’ll be fine. If Oswald’s priority is getting Martin to safety, Ed’s priority is to make sure Oswald and Martin are taken care of on the journey.

 

A song comes on that Ed knows and he starts singing along, his voice filling the car. A beat later, Oswald joins in, his voice flowing and mixing together with Ed’s. It reminds Ed of those weeks in his apartment, when Ed would play the piano and the two of them would sing.

 

It makes him think of the early days, when he and Oswald were just getting to know each other, before everything happened between them. There’s so much, now, between them—so much history and growth and anger and pain and knowledge and understanding and _love_. Ed wouldn’t go back, if he had the chance. Whatever happened between them, happened, and maybe they both needed that.

 

Maybe they needed it to get to where they are now, and to get to where Ed still thinks they can go.

 

Martin bounces up and down in the passenger seat, dancing to the beat, and Ed has to stop singing to laugh.

 

Yeah, this is what he wants to do for the rest of his life. At this point, even though he knows he’ll have to eventually, he doesn’t care whether or not he ever goes back to Gotham. As long as he’s with Oswald, and as long as Martin is safe and happy, Ed will feel whole.

 

At the same time, though, he knows that Oswald will never be happy anywhere but Gotham. So, that’s where Ed will be, too. At Oswald’s side, until the end.

 

“Ed!” Oswald says, whacking the back of Ed’s seat. “Keep singing with me!”

 

Ed opens his mouth, belting out the words as the highway flows past.

 

* * *

 

 

True to his word, Ed treats his boys to a nice lunch at a steakhouse a little ways off the highway. It’s much tastier than fast food at a rest stop, and the facilities are nicer, too.

 

While they’re in a little circle of shops, they stop in a thrift store to scrounge up some more clothes, since they’ll be on the road for a while longer. Ed finally picks up a suitcase, so he doesn’t have to keep carting around his worldly possessions in a garbage bag. He fills it with suits and slacks and soft sweaters in greens, grays, and purples, as well as a bow tie covered in green question marks that Oswald finds for him at the bottom of a bin of ties.

 

Oswald hunts through the canes, next, and expresses his disappointment clearly when none of the cool ones have daggers hidden in the tops. Ed has to remind him that he got his own canes custom made, and he can’t expect to find anything quite as awesome at a small-town thrift store. Oswald begrudgingly accepts this. He _does_ pick up a few items of clothing, storing them in Ed’s suitcase since his own duffel is already pretty full.

 

They get Martin a small suitcase as well, and fill it with clothes in a few sizes for him to grow into. There’s apparently a uniform at the school they’re taking him to, but it never hurts to have everyday outfits, as well.

 

Ed also finds a penguin-patterned cardigan for Martin—it’s slightly too big, but he puts it on immediately anyway, shaking his head when they try to get him to take it off. It’s _precious_ , and Ed spends the rest of the afternoon feeling fond.

 

Oswald even picks up some makeup at a small drug store, happily grabbing things that remain a mystery to Ed, but Oswald is excited about them. He also grabs some concealer for the bruising on Ed’s jaw, holding up tubes to match Ed’s skin tone.

 

The good mood between the three of them continues, even as Ed pulls up in late afternoon to the first motel he passes. If they have to stop early for an accessible room and a bathtub for Oswald, they’ll take it. And if this motel doesn’t have what they need, it won’t be too much of a hardship to get back on the road until they hit another one.

 

“How much farther do we have?” Oswald asks, as he gets his legs to cooperate.

 

Ed reaches around the seat and grabs the map from the seat pocket. He pours over it for a few minutes, figuring out where they are and where they still have to go. “If we stop now, we have about another half-day of driving tomorrow.”

 

“And if we keep going?” Oswald asks.

 

Ed turns his body to stare at Oswald.

 

“ _What_?” Oswald asks.

 

“We’re agreed that we’re going to see if this place will work, first,” Ed says.

 

“And if it _doesn’t_?”

 

“Depends on the next place we stop at,” Ed says. “We _might_ get to the town mid-morning if we have to keep going tonight. If we stop here, it’ll be late afternoon. Either way, it’s all just tomorrow.”

 

“I have to go to the bank and get us set up,” Oswald reminds him.

 

“Yes,” Ed says, “but there’s no rush.”

 

“We have to tour the school.”

 

Ed sighs. “But we don’t have to do that _tomorrow_.”

 

Oswald throws his hands up. “Fine!”

 

“ _Oswald_ ,” Ed says, in a warning tone.

 

“Yes, _Ed_?”

 

Ed can’t believe how much he loves this obnoxious, cranky, impatient man. “ _Breathe_. We’ll get there. For now, let’s just see if we can find you a nice bathtub to soak in.”

 

Oswald huffs but opens the car door and pushes himself out of it.

 

It’s funny—Ed knows that, with anyone else, Oswald wouldn’t even take the time to get his legs back to working order after being in a car, that he’d just throw himself up and deal with the consequences later. But here, with only Ed and Martin to see, Oswald lets himself be vulnerable.

 

Ed is sure that nobody else still alive in Gotham knows just how much pain Oswald is in on a daily basis. If they did, they might try to use it against him, even more than they already _try_ to use his limp against him. For the most part, thank goodness, they fail.

 

And there’s nothing Ed loves to see more than someone underestimating Oswald and getting stabbed for their troubles. The sight of Oswald weaponizing his small stature and his visible disability is always _so satisfying_ to watch.

 

It’s something Ed has always been drawn to about Oswald: he takes what he’s given and he turns it into power. He takes every knock-down, every disadvantage, every setback, and he crafts them into strength. It’s a beautiful thing to see, truly. Ed has been luckier than most; he’s been able to see it happen right in front of him, multiple times.

 

Even when it happened to him. It was beautiful, masterful, how Oswald had played up his own weaknesses to feed on Ed’s.

 

Ed had destroyed Oswald by knowing the other man well enough to do so. Oswald destroyed Ed by knowing both Ed _and_ himself well enough.

 

It’s enough to make any murderous, lovesick fool feel warm and proud.

 

They lurk at the front desk while the clerk checks the logs to find that, yes, there is an accessible, ground-floor room for the night, with a _tub_. Oswald heaves a sigh of relief. Ed wholeheartedly agrees.

 

The room is smaller than the one before, with a queen bed instead of a king—but the bathtub is really all that matters. They’ll all fit into the queen bed; especially since they woke up in a pile this morning anyway.

 

While Ed unpacks the car, Martin uses the bathroom. They both know that Oswald will be in the bath for at least an hour, probably more.

 

“Sure you don’t want to try the next motel up the road?” Ed asks, teasing.

 

Oswald rolls his eyes. “Very funny.”

 

Ed grins as he goes out to pick up the cooler and lock the car behind him. With that done, he just barely is able to fight Oswald off for long enough so he can use the bathroom before Oswald claims it as his kingdom.

 

“Knock if you need me,” Oswald says, before shutting the door firmly in Ed’s face.

 

“What if I need to pee again?” Ed calls through the door.

 

“You can go outside!” Oswald calls back.

 

Ed shakes his head, amused, and turns back to Martin. “Well, kiddo, what do you want to do?”

 

They end up playing hangman for a bit, which ends up being partially playing, partially Ed teaching Martin how to fingerspell in ASL. Ed doesn’t remember a lot of the sign language he’d learned in college, but he remembers that much, at least.

 

After a while, they realize they can hear Oswald humming through the door. Martin smiles and bops his hands like he’s conducting an orchestra. Ed laughs and adds words to the notes that Oswald is singing, joining his friend in song through the bathroom door. Oswald’s voice rises, merging neatly with Ed’s.

 

It’s a song they both know, one they’ve sung many times before, and it feels like home.

 

Martin claps loudly when the song ends, and Ed lets out a whoop. They can hear Oswald laugh and then fall silent in the bathroom.

 

“That was fun,” Ed says. Martin nods, fast and energetic. “You want to play more hangman?”

 

“Yes,” Martin fingerspells, slowly, his face screwed up in concentration.

 

“Good!” Ed says. Martin is already getting the hang of it—he’s a smart kid.

 

They play hangman, and then move onto tic-tac-toe, until Ed doesn’t want to waste any more of Martin’s paper. They’d picked him up some more, but it never hurts to be safe. So, instead, they curl up against the headboard of the bed while Ed flips through channels to find the cartoons.

 

An hour and some Looney Tunes later, Martin falls asleep, curled up in a little ball. Ed curses internally that he didn’t think to get the kid into his pajamas sooner. Oh well; if Martin wakes up, Ed will suggest he change. If he doesn’t, he’ll just have to sleep in his clothes. It’s not like Ed has never done that before—not like he didn’t do that most nights, the last few months.

 

Ed sighs and gets up, knocking softly on the door. “Oswald? You still awake in there?” he asks, trying to toe the line between being loud enough for Oswald to hear him but quiet enough so he doesn’t wake Martin up.

 

“Yeah,” Oswald says back, muffled. Ed can hear water splashing. “What’s going on?”

 

“Martin fell asleep,” Ed says, “wanted to see how you were doing.”

 

“Then stop trying to whisper-yell through the door,” Oswald admonishes. “You’ll wake him up. Just come in.”

 

“What—”

 

“There’s a curtain on the tub. I’ll pull it shut.”

 

Ed opens the door slowly, giving Oswald time to tug on the fabric and close off the shower from the rest of the room. All Ed can make out is a vague shadow behind the thin, white curtain. Not that he tries too hard to see anything. He knows what Oswald looks like well enough—and he figures, whatever parts he hasn’t seen, he will soon enough anyway.

 

Okay, he _hopes_.

 

He closes the door behind him and settles down on the thin bath mat that Oswald has laid down on the floor, his lower back resting against the side of the tub. He tells Oswald about playing games with Martin, and teaching him basic ASL fingerspelling.

 

Oswald listens quietly, the water in the tub making soft splashing noises occasionally as he moves around.

 

“I didn’t expect you to be this good with kids,” Oswald says, when Ed finishes.

 

“Oh, that’s nice,” Ed says, stung. “Thanks.”

 

“No, Ed,” Oswald says, water sloshing as he shifts. “That wasn’t—ugh. I didn’t think I would be, either. I don’t even _like_ kids. Usually.”

 

“And now you’ve adopted one,” Ed says, mostly mollified.

 

“I wouldn’t say adopted, per se—”

 

“ _Oswald_ ,” Ed says, cutting him off. “I know you said to call you ‘Uncle Penguin,’ but, come on, he’s practically your son at this point.”

 

Oswald is silent for a second, then mutters, “He deserves better.”

 

Ed shakes his head, the scratchy fabric of the curtain making soft shushing noises as his hair brushes against it. “From where I’m sitting, kid hit the jackpot.”

 

Oswald snorts. “You would say that.”

 

“What do you mean by _that_?” Ed snips.

 

“You think so because you’re in love with me,” Oswald says, blunt and matter-of-fact.

 

He’s not wrong about the in-love part, but— “And you think that means I’m clueless about the kind of person you are? Oswald, have you forgotten about everything that went down between us? Did you think _I_ forgot?”

 

“Well—”

 

“Because I remember that you killed my girlfriend, that I then destroyed everything you’d built _and_ tried to kill you. That you tried to kill me, in return. That you _froze me in ice_.” Ed’s voice is rising, and he forces it back down, so as not to wake Martin up. “I remember all of it, Oswald, so don’t try to tell me that I only think Martin is lucky to have you because I’m in love with you and therefore ignorant of everything you are.”

 

“Ed—”

 

“No, I’m talking,” Ed snaps. “I grew up with the worst kind of parents, and I know what that looks like. It looks like beatings and forcing a child into a box that was never meant for them. It looks like hurtful words and anger at a child’s very existence because they’re not the perfect cookie-cutter kid you wanted them to be. You care for that boy, Oswald. And he will _always_ be lucky to have you, if only for that.”

 

Ed takes a deep breath, the anger seeping slowly away, leaving him with regret at saying anything about his parents.

 

“I didn’t know,” Oswald says, tentatively.

 

“I know,” Ed says, terse. “I don’t talk about it. On purpose.”

 

“Do you want to?” Oswald asks.

 

“We were talking about you and Martin,” Ed reminds him.

 

“We _were_ ,” Oswald says.

 

Ed pulls his glasses off and tosses them on the bath mat next to him so he can bury his face in his hands. Ever since he left all that behind, he’s never told a soul. He’d managed to bury it all so deep, but now it’s climbing its way back up. Even earlier, with Martin, he’d managed to keep it far away and out of reach. But here, alone with Oswald in this echoing bathroom, with the soft sounds of splashing water behind him, it’s all coming back up, clawing its way up his throat.

 

“Talk to me, Ed,” Oswald pleads. He reaches a hand out around the curtain, grasping at Ed’s shoulder. Ed grabs onto it, threading his fingers through Oswald’s warm, damp ones.

 

“You know I’d do anything for you, Oswald,” Ed says, hoping this doesn’t break him.

 

Oswald squeezes his hand tight. “Then tell me.”

 

Ed does.

 

“I was never the son my parents, especially my father, wanted me to be,” he starts off. His voice is unsteady, weak, but Oswald’s thumb brushes against the back of his hand, and it keeps him pushing forward. “Unathletic, gawky, awkward—more interested in reading than in soccer or football or baseball. No social skills. Prone to meltdowns from overstimulation. _Weak_ , in other words.”

 

“In _his_ words?” Oswald asks.

 

Ed nods, his forehead hitting against his knees.

 

“You’re not weak, Ed,” Oswald tells him.

 

“Not anymore,” Ed replies. “Not—” He takes a deep, gasping breath. “That’s why losing my smarts after you froze me was so—so hard for me. I was weak, in a way I’d hoped I would never be again.”

 

Oswald falls silent.

 

“Anyway,” Ed says, clearing his throat and sitting back up. “My dad beat me. That’s that.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Oswald says, squeezing Ed’s hand again. “Is he dead at least?”

 

Ed lets out a hollow bark of a laugh. “No,” he says. “No, he’s alive and well.”

 

“I could kill him for you,” Oswald offers. “Torture him nice and slow, over a few days. Hot pokers, shallow cuts, teeth pulling—the works.”

 

The thought of it _does_ made Ed feel a little better, even if it’s not what he wants. “Thank you, but no. I don’t want him to think I still care what he thinks of me.”

 

“The offer stands, if you change your mind.”

 

“I appreciate that,” Ed says, sniffling a bit. Oh, his face is wet. He rubs at his eyes with his free hand, unwilling to let go of Oswald. “Can we talk about something else, now?”

 

“Yes, of course. Anything in particular?” Oswald asks.

 

Ed sniffs again. “Just distract me, please.”

 

Oswald squeezes his hand again. “Did I ever tell you about coming out to my mother?” he asks.

 

“No.”

 

“Can I?”

 

“Please do.”

 

Oswald sighs and settles down into the tub, still holding onto Ed’s hand. “It was funny, because she eventually _got_ the trans part; it was the gay part that confused her.”

 

“Oh?” Ed prods, clutching onto this thread of story with his life.

 

“It did take her a while to understand what my being trans actually meant; a lot of fights ensued. But when she did eventually get it, she expected me to like girls all of a sudden.” Oswald snorts. “There were a lot of questions of, ‘Oh, but if you like boys, wouldn’t it be easier if you were a girl?’ Well, yes, of course, but I’m not one, so it’s a moot point. She never could grasp the fact that gender and sexuality aren’t intertwined.”

 

Ed takes a deep breath, and it only hitches slightly. “It was good, at least, that she got part of it, right?”

 

Oswald chuckles. “Yes, it was. There was never any question of her kicking me out, or trying to force me into being something I wasn’t. Just a lot of long conversations of me explaining the same things over and over again. Not malicious, but definitely annoying.”

 

“I’d take annoying,” Ed says.

 

“I can imagine you would.” Oswald sighs, his thumb back to rubbing circles into the back of Ed’s hand.

 

Ed really wants to be closer, right now. He wants to be held, but he’s not sure how to say that. And he doesn’t want to seem _weak_.

 

But, then again, this is _Oswald_. He’s seen Ed at his highest and his lowest and everything in between. And he’s still here, holding Ed’s hand.

 

“Oswald?” Ed asks.

 

“Hmm?”

 

Ed swallows, nervous, but pushes forward anyway. “Are you almost done in the bath? I could really, um, really use a bit more physical comfort than just holding your hand—not that I don’t appreciate this but…”

 

The silence drags on for a second long enough for Ed to start to panic, but then Oswald says: “Yeah, close your eyes. I’ll get out. The water’s gone cold, anyway.”

 

Ed shuts his eyes tight, letting his forehead drop back down against his knees. Oswald pulls his hand back, and Ed can hear him release the drain stopper and stand up, theoretically using the grab bar as leverage. Then Ed feels a hand on his shoulder, as Oswald uses him as a brace to climb out of the tub. Ed knows there’s a grab bar for that, too, but he doesn’t mind this, instead.

 

Even if Oswald is dripping on him. At least he’s still in his suit, so he can leave it out to dry overnight, and not in the clothes he’ll be wearing to bed.

 

The water gurgles in the drain as Oswald rustles around above Ed’s head. Both sounds are comforting, oddly enough.

 

“Okay,” Oswald says.

 

Ed opens his eyes a crack and sees striped pajama pants, before he sees Oswald unsteadily kneel down in front of him.

 

“I’m here, Ed.”

 

Ed unfolds, leaning forward and letting Oswald take him into his arms. Oswald sits down awkwardly in between Ed’s legs, his own legs at odd angles. Ed buries his face into Oswald’s neck, taking deep breaths through his nose.

 

He’s fine, he’s okay, he’s not going to—

 

And, he’s crying again.

 

Oswald runs his fingers through Ed’s hair, murmuring words that Ed can’t quite make out—they might not even be English, for all he knows.

 

A tentative knocking sounds on the door. Oh, crud, Martin is awake. Ed sniffles, hastily stemming his tears. Oswald pries himself up and goes to open the door as Ed collects himself, turning around to face the tub and hide while he does.

 

“Did you wake up and need to use the bathroom, Martin?” Ed hears Oswald ask behind him. Silence as Martin answers and Ed rubs harshly at his eyes before shoving his glasses back on his face. “Your Uncle Riddler and I were trying not to wake you. We didn't, did we? Good. We’ll get out of your way, and, here, let’s get you changed into your pajamas. Ed?”

 

“I’m getting up,” Ed answers, leveraging himself off the floor and trying not to make eye contact with Martin so the boy doesn’t see his red eyes and damp cheeks. “Sorry, little buddy.” He feels a tug on his sleeve and automatically looks down just in time for Martin to wrap himself around Ed’s waist. “Oh.”

 

It’s hard to breathe, all of a sudden. Ed was never going to be a father, not ever, not after his own father, he’d made that promise. Right now, though, he’s relatively certain that’s a promise he won’t be able to keep.

 

Martin releases him and shuffles further into the bathroom, while Oswald places a firm hand on Ed’s lower back and guides him out.

 

Ed doesn’t even really realize he’s moving until he plops down heavily on the edge of the bed. Oswald sits down next to him, loosely clasping Ed’s hands in his own.

 

“Are you okay?” Oswald asks.

 

Ed isn’t sure. He’s really not—not sure, and also not okay. He’s trying to push all this back down but it won’t go. He probably needs to sleep it off, start tomorrow fresh, without the weight of his father on his shoulders.

 

“Hey,” Oswald says, cupping Ed’s cheek and turning his head to face him. “Look at me.”

 

Ed looks at him. Looks at Oswald—his best friend, his worst enemy, the love of his life.

 

“I’m with you,” Oswald says, looking steadily into his eyes. “I’m glad you’re here, with me and Martin. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

 

“I am a good designated driver,” Ed murmurs, rubbing his face tentatively against Oswald’s hand.

 

Oswald smiles slightly but shakes his head. “No, that’s not what I mean. Driving is all very well and good, but I could have pushed through the pain and done that. I mean that you’re good with Martin, and you…” Oswald ducks his head slightly. “What I mean to say is that you give me strength. You keep me going, Ed.”

 

Ed swallows, hard. The tension is back, buzzing between them. Oswald looks back up at Ed through his eyelashes, before lifting his head fully once again.

 

“You know that Martin is my priority right now,” Oswald continues. Ed nods. “But I do love you, Ed. I never stopped.”

 

“Oh, god, _Oswald_ ,” Ed groans, dropping his head down against Oswald’s chest. He feels Oswald’s hands rub at his back, feels lips against the top of his head.

 

“I can’t have the conversation we need to have, not yet. Not until we drop Martin off. But I...I felt that you needed to know that, tonight.” Oswald kisses the top of his head again. “I love you, Ed.”

 

Ed laughs, wet and thick, clutching onto handfuls of Oswald’s pajama shirt. “I love you, too, Oswald.”

 

And when they all pile into bed together, Ed thinks, ‘Oh, this is what family should feel like.’

 

* * *

 

 

It does end up being late afternoon when they drive into the small, sleepy town that Oswald had picked to squirrel Martin away. Ed’s math was right, as usual.

 

Ed pulls up in front of the bank that Oswald directs him to and turns around in his seat while Oswald hastily gets himself together, fishing his cane out from where it had fallen onto the floor.

 

“So, how are we playing this?” Ed asks.

 

Oswald looks up at Ed as he smooths the wrinkles out of his gray-and-black pinstriped tailcoat that had been laying on the seat next to him. “ _I_ go in with Martin, get access to my account, and then we head to the school if there’s still time. _You_ stay in the car.”

 

“I’m just your chauffeur, then?” Ed asks, slightly peeved. “Should I have stolen a limo and a black suit to go with that?”

 

“I only made plans for me and Martin. You being a part of them might make him easier to track,” Oswald explains.

 

Ed sighs. So much for that whole family idea. “Fine.”

 

“You’re unhappy with that.”

 

“Observant of you.”

 

“What do you want to do, Ed?” Oswald snips.

 

It was stupid of Ed to think they could be a true family. He’s not sure what he wants, he just knows that this stings. “I got ahead of myself,” Ed says. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

Oswald rolls his eyes and opens the car door. He heaves himself out of it without taking the time to get his legs working. Martin follows, getting out of the passenger side and jumping around to stretch out his legs. Ed stays seated, rolling the window down slightly.

 

“Have fun.” He rolls up the window.

 

Oswald makes a noise of disgust and throws Ed’s door open. “Get out, you whiny baby. Come on.”

 

“Don’t call me names,” Ed snaps, closing the door again.

 

Martin scribbles on his pad, holding up a drawing of a sad face and showing it to the both of them. The message is clear, “Please stop fighting.”

 

Ed feels the frustration drain out of him, leaving him feeling guilty. This isn’t about him; this is about Martin. He opens his door again, swinging his legs out onto the pavement to face his boys. “I’ve felt part of a— _unit_ these past few days.” He’d almost said family. “I didn’t like suddenly feeling like I’m not wanted.”

 

Oswald sighs. He glances around at the few stragglers in the mostly-empty parking lot.  Then he shrugs and leans forward, cupping Ed’s cheek with his free hand and pressing a soft kiss to Ed’s forehead. “You _are_ wanted, Ed. But—”

 

“Martin comes first,” Ed finishes, resting a hand on Oswald’s hip. “I know. You’re right.”

 

Martin scribbles on his pad again. “I want you both with me,” he says.

 

Ed shakes his head, resigned. “Oswald is right, it would attract too much attention.”

 

“I already draw too much attention alone,” Oswald points out. “But one eccentric, small man with a limp and a cane—especially if it’s not a penguin-headed cane—is still less of a conversation piece than that same man with the addition of a tall, thin partner with glasses.”

 

“Partner?” Ed asks, perking up.

 

Oswald gives him a quick, mischievous smile and steps back. “Business partners, remember?”

 

Ed winces. “I deserved that.”

 

Oswald hums in agreement, reaching back out to give Ed’s cheek a quick pat. “You’ll be good out here?”

 

“I will.”

 

The two of them turn away and walk into the bank, leaving Ed alone in the lot. He turns the car off, getting up to stretch. It’s been a long day of driving, even with the few stops they’d taken in the middle.

 

And it’s been a whirlwind. Oswald had been feeling better this morning, well enough to hurry Ed and Martin along. He’s _bossy_ , and Ed would be annoyed about it if he didn’t enjoy it so much. Ed does like being ordered around, for the most part. In certain ways.

 

He really does like doing what Oswald tells him to do; he always has. He had told Lee that he didn’t like being a sidekick, but that’s not really true. He’s happy to play second fiddle to the force of nature that is Oswald.

 

Even if it stings sometimes. Even if Oswald doesn’t always take what Ed might be feeling into consideration. At least he listens to Ed in the end, even if he was thoughtless at first.

 

Anyway, it’s not like Ed is the most considerate person in the world.

 

Ed leans against the car, looking around. It’s chilly out, the air brisk and cool, but spring is clearly here. People are walking around in light jackets instead of the winter coats they’d left behind in Gotham. It’s a nice little town that Oswald picked. Small but not _too_ small. Quaint, but it doesn’t look horribly old-fashioned.

 

He doesn’t know anything about the school that Oswald picked out, but he’s sure it’ll have top notch education, and know how to best handle Martin’s mutism. Martin is a smart kid, but a traditional classroom would probably not handle his disability well. Times have changed since Ed was growing up, but not that much. Not enough.

 

Oswald will have done his research, though, especially when it comes to Martin.

 

It’s getting cold, but Ed doesn’t want to get back into the car. He also doesn’t want to go inside and mess with Oswald’s plan, so he opens the trunk and pulls out a coat that he’d picked up at the secondhand shop. Much better.

 

 Now, though, Ed is getting bored. There’s a little bookshop across the street that he’s been eyeing…

 

He peeks through the glass door of the bank and doesn’t see Oswald anywhere. Probably in a vault somewhere. Ed can _definitely_ take a spin in the bookstore.

 

Bells above the door jingle slightly as Ed opens.

 

“We close in half an hour,” a voice says.

 

Ed spins to spot a middle-aged lady with short-cropped red hair and thick glasses. She looks slightly out of place, and Ed can spot tattoos poking out of her three-quarter length sleeves. Definitely not who Ed would have expected to be running a used bookstore in a sleepy small town in the middle of nowhere.

 

“I’m just waiting for my friend in the bank across the street,” Ed explains.

 

The lady shrugs. “Fine. Feel free to look around, and ask me if you have any questions.”

 

Ed nods and she disappears into the stacks. The store is packed; every shelf and free surface packed to the brim, tiny labels signifying sections. Ed tries to stay in sight of the windows, but the sciences are pushed to the back, and he wants to see what he can find in there.

 

He’s engrossed in a book on medieval medicine—most of which would more or less amount to torture these days—when the bell over the door rings again.

 

“Ed?” Oswald’s voice calls.

 

“Back here!” Ed says, poking his head out from behind a bookcase, catching sight of Oswald with Martin in tow. “Sorry,” he says, “I meant to keep an eye out for you. How’d it go?”

 

“We’re all set, let’s go.”

 

Ed nods and places the book back on the shelf. The lady doesn’t reappear to see them out, so Ed just shuts the door firmly behind him, the bells jingling again. “I like this town,” he says.

 

“You haven’t seen any of this town,” Oswald says, “except for the outside of the bank and the inside of that bookstore.”

 

“You can tell a lot about a town by their bookstores,” Ed teases as they climb back into the car. “Where to next, boss?”

 

“ _Boss_?” Oswald asks, an amused lilt to his voice.

 

Ed shrugs. “If I’m your chauffeur…” he says, his voice light as well.

 

Oswald snorts. “I see how it is. Okay, there’s a nice inn I found to stay at. We can check in there and then find somewhere for dinner.” He gives Ed directions, poking through the town map that Ed assumes he’d gotten at the bank.

 

“It’ll be nice to have a break from motels,” Ed muses, following the directions Oswald gives him.

 

Oswald makes a sound of agreement, but doesn’t elaborate. Martin nods from the passenger seat.

 

“Oh, are you sick of motels too, little buddy?” Ed asks, grinning.

 

Martin shrugs.

 

“Or is the rest stop food?” Oswald asks.

 

“I know what _you’re_ sick of,” Ed teases him. Oswald will eat anything, but Ed knows how it feels to have just gotten out of Arkham and to want to eat real food again.

 

“The beds will probably be more comfortable, too,” Oswald says. “And we don’t all have to share one.”

 

Ed glances back in the rearview mirror, meeting Oswald’s eyes briefly. “Yeah? What are we going to do about the sleeping arrangements?” He has to look back at the road, so he doesn’t catch Oswald’s expression.

 

“I was thinking,” Oswald says, “that you and I could have a room, and Martin could get his own room. He has to get used to staying in a room alone, and it might be good to ease him into it.”

 

Oh, thank goodness. Ed was worried he was about to get relegated to his own bed, and he would honestly rather _never_ go back to sleeping in a bed without Oswald ever again.

 

“Does that sound okay, Martin?” Oswald continues switching his focus to Martin.

 

Martin scribbles something on his pad, but Ed is too busy focusing on where he’s going to glance down at the pad, so he doesn’t see Martin’s answer.

 

“I know,” Oswald says. “I don’t want to, either, but I can’t stay forever. Ed and I have to go back to Gotham. There’s too much left unfinished.”

 

Another pause while Martin scribbles and shows his response to Oswald.

 

“Yes, I’ve set up a series of PO boxes, so we can send letters,” Oswald replies. “I’m not disappearing from your life, Martin. I _promise_.”

 

Martin sniffles. Ed sees Oswald lean forward and place a hand on Martin’s shoulder.

 

“We’re not abandoning you here, Martin. We’re keeping you safe.”

 

Ed doesn’t miss Oswald’s change from ‘I’ to ‘we,’ and it makes his heartbeat ring in his ears.

 

They get to the inn—a beautiful, one-story building with a mountain view—and Ed gets a parking space close to the front. They make their way inside to check in. It’s still the off-season, even if this town probably wouldn’t draw a big crowd during the on-season, so there are plenty of rooms available, including a two-bedroom with a common room and a small kitchen.

 

 _And_ a bathtub.

 

“There’s a hot tub outside as well,” the front desk clerk tells them, and Oswald perks up.

 

“Private for the room, or for anyone staying in the inn?” he asks.

 

“It’s for all guests,” the clerk informs him, and he droops slightly. “But,” she continues, “there aren’t many people staying here right now; depending on what time you’d like to use it, it will most likely be empty. That way, you might be able use it alone, or just with your family.”

 

Oswald opens his mouth at the last word, glances at Ed and Martin, and closes it. He turns back to the clerk and nods. “Sounds like a good deal,” he says. “Room 16?”

 

She confirms the room number and hands over the keys.

 

Ed, as usual, unpacks the car, making three trips back and forth from the car to the room while Oswald and Martin set up the room. When he finishes bringing everything in from the car, Ed drags his suitcase into the larger of the two bedrooms, noting the one king bed. He smiles to himself as he hangs up his clothes and Oswald’s, while Oswald helps Martin arrange things in the smaller bedroom.

 

Oswald comes back into the room as Ed is finishing up and flops down on the bed. “Martin is taking a shower,” he says, wriggling around to get more comfortable and kicking his shoes off. “He doesn’t like the _road dust_. Says his hair feels sandy.”

 

“He does like to be neat,” Ed agrees, hanging up the last of the suits. “Are you going to shower before dinner?”

 

“Probably not,” Oswald answers, still lying on his back and hugging his knees to his chest in a stretch. “I’ll shower in the morning, before we visit the school. I want to look my best. Oh, is there an iron in the closet?”

 

Ed checks and nods. “Yup.” He closes the closet door and walks over to the bed, curling his leg up under him and sitting on the edge. “Am I driving you to the school tomorrow? Or will you drive—and either way should I have bought that book I was looking through at the used bookstore earlier because I’ll be stuck in the room or the car until you’re done?”

 

Oswald shrugs and continues stretching, twisting his body in a way that brushes his knee up against Ed’s hip. “I haven’t decided yet. Can you…?” He gestures to his leg, indicating that he wants Ed to help him stretch.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Ed says, and puts a hand gently on Oswald’s knee, helping him deepen the stretch. They do this in varying positions for a few minutes, working in relative and comfortable silence. This isn’t new; Ed had helped Oswald stretch occasionally when they were working together, when Oswald was mayor.

 

It was always something to see Oswald in tight yoga pants and a thin t-shirt, and Ed realizes that he enjoyed it because he was attracted to Oswald. He groans internally at his lack of self-awareness. If he’d realized what it was earlier…

 

Here, though, Oswald is still in his suit, and no less attractive to Ed for it. Well, there is something about the yoga pants that Ed particularly enjoys, but Oswald definitely wears a suit well.

 

“Ed?” Oswald asks, and Ed realizes he’s stopped helping Oswald stretch and is instead just _touching_ Oswald, running his hands softly up and down Oswald’s thighs.

 

“Sorry,” Ed says. “Got lost in thought.”

 

Oswald hums. “About anything in particular?” he asks, his voice soft and amused. He’s smirking up at Ed, and Ed feels himself turning red. It doesn’t help that he’s practically on top of Oswald; it would be so easy to lean down and kiss him—but Martin is in the other room, and Ed doesn’t want the kid to walk in on them. Better to wait until they’re truly alone.

 

“I was thinking about you,” Ed answers truthfully, still moving back slightly so he doesn’t give into temptation.

 

“Oh?” Oswald prompts, leaning up on his elbows and raising an eyebrow.

 

“Later,” Ed says, hearing the bathroom door open, and realizing that the door to their bedroom is also open.

 

Another door shuts, probably the door to Martin’s room, and Ed feels Oswald grab onto his lapel. He turns along with Oswald’s tug, right into a kiss. It’s heated, Oswald’s tongue pushing into his mouth almost instantly. It’s also over all too quickly, leaving Ed gasping for air and for more kisses.

 

Ed opens his eyes, which he doesn’t remember closing, meeting Oswald’s hot gaze.

 

“Were you thinking about that?” Oswald asks, slightly breathless.

 

“Not exactly,” Ed answers, running his hands once again up and down Oswald’s thighs—this time, intentionally. “Not right when you asked, at least. I did uh, did think about it, though. Well, about uh, leaning down from where I was on top of you…” Ed trails off as the door to Martin’s bedroom opens again, and he shuffles back, standing up and smoothing out his clothes.

 

Oswald clears his throat and regains his own composure as Martin appears in the doorway. “Ready for dinner?” he asks.

 

Martin nods.

 

“Let’s go ask at the front desk what they recommend,” Oswald says, standing up. Ed hands him his cane. As they exit, Oswald brushes past Ed with a muttered, “We’ll continue our discussion later.”

 

Ed swallows. He’s sure they will.

 

* * *

 

 

They eat dinner at a small Italian restaurant. It’s quiet and candlelit, with only a few other couples and families eating. Oswald rests his knee against Ed’s under the table, and Ed spends the entire meal with his heart threatening to burst out of his chest.

 

Martin doesn’t seem to be picking up Oswald’s messy eating habits; he’s still as neat in eating as he is about everything else. At least he’s eating _well_ , finishing his supper and asking for dessert as well. He’s a growing boy, and Ed and Oswald are all too happy to feed him whatever he asks for.

 

The kid eats enough carbs that he all but passes out when they get back to the inn. Oswald tucks him in. When he gets back into the room he’s sharing with Ed, Ed is already half out of his suit, his jacket and shirt thrown on the bed waiting to be hung up.

 

“I thought,” Oswald says, “we’d try the hot tub.”

 

Ed glances at him. “We?”

 

Oswald nods, slipping out of his tailcoat and starting to unbutton his vest. “It’s dark out, hopefully nobody will want to use it. And it’s cold, even more of a reason not to strip down to underwear—or a swimsuit, but we don’t have any—at night.”

 

“For _other people_ not to, you mean?” Ed asks.

 

“Precisely.” Oswald starts unbuttoning his dress shirt, opening it over his undershirt. “I think there are robes in the bathroom, if you want to grab those and towels for us.”

 

Ed nods, reluctantly leaving Oswald stripping behind him. He moves quietly so as not to wake Martin. When he gets back, Oswald is in just his pajama pants and an undershirt. Ed hands over one robe and tucks the other under his arm, along with the towels. “Ready?”

 

“Ready.” Oswald grabs the room key but leaves everything else behind, including his cane.

 

It’s dark on the back deck, and frigid, but the hot tub is bubbling away merrily. The only light comes from the moon, which is more than enough for the two of them to see as they strip down to their skivvies and climb down into the tub, inset into the deck.  

 

Ed’s glasses fog up almost immediately and he takes them off, reaching out to place them with his pile of clothes. Oswald, meanwhile, lets out a loud groan of contentment.

 

“Feel good?” Ed asks.

 

“Feels _amazing_ ,” Oswald moans; sounding almost filthy. Well, it sounds filthy to Ed’s ears, but that could just be a result of the two of them alone in nothing but their underwear. Not that Ed can see much, with the darkness of the night and his lack of glasses. But it’s the thought of it that’s getting to Ed.

 

That, and the memory of their kiss earlier, along with Ed’s hope that it will be repeated and continued.

 

Oswald is on the other side of the tub, though, which is too far away for Ed’s liking. He scoots closer. Before he can say anything, or ask in what way Oswald wants to continue their ‘conversation’ from earlier, Oswald moves to meet him in the middle, crashing their mouths together.

 

It starts off sloppy and messy as they find a rhythm. Ed’s hands slide under the water, grasping at Oswald’s waist.

 

Kissing Oswald is everything Ed had ever dreamed it would be. Oswald is passionate and fierce, biting and nipping and growling, and Ed loves it. Oswald’s hands are everywhere—in Ed’s hair, pulling his head back so Oswald can nibble at his neck; running down his chest, thumbing at his nipples; clawing at his back with short, rough nails.

 

Ed vaguely hopes his moaning doesn’t wake up anybody; he’s not sure if there are rooms right around here, or if they’d even be occupied. He stops caring entirely, though, as soon as Oswald climbs into his lap, straddling him and settling down on his thighs.

 

Oswald pauses in his vicious mauling of Ed, leaning their foreheads together. Both of them are breathing heavily and Ed is rock hard, his erection pressing against Oswald’s crotch.

 

“I think it’s bad form to come in someone else’s hot tub,” Ed murmurs.

 

Oswald laughs. “Probably. They can send over the cleaning bill.” He reaches a hand down into the water, lifting up on his knees so he can rub a palm over Ed’s cock. Ed whines, his hips moving automatically to grind himself against Oswald’s hand. Oswald hums and resumes sucking and biting at Ed’s neck.

 

“If you leave a mark,” Ed gasps, thrusting against Oswald’s hand, “I definitely can’t go with you on the school tour tomorrow.”

 

“That’s what makeup is for, my dear Ed,” Oswald replies, removing his hand and instead rubbing his cunt against Ed’s erection.

 

Ed grasps hard at Oswald’s hips, forcing Oswald to bear down on him even more. “I want to be inside you,” he moans.

 

Oswald sucks in a breath, letting it out hot against Ed’s neck. “Not in the hot tub,” he says, “I don’t want to get an infection.” That is not what Ed wanted to hear, but Oswald appeases him with, “I’m still gonna get you off, Ed. You’ll just have to wait to fuck me.”

 

Okay, that’s acceptable. Not that Ed can think much right now, definitely not about anything but the drag of Oswald’s cunt up and down on his cock. His nerve endings are alight; everything feels so _good_.

 

It feels so good that he knows he’s not going to last long. He’s been wanting this too much, and Oswald feels too good against him. Ed slips his fingers down the back of Oswald’s boyshorts, grasping at his ass and using that as better leverage for Oswald thrusting against him.

 

Oswald returns to his mouth, the two of them moving together as Oswald moans his name against his lips in between heated kisses. “ _Ed, oh Ed, my dear Ed_.”

 

“ _Oswald_ ,” Ed gasps, “I’m not—I’m gonna come so soon—”

 

“I don’t mind,” Oswald breathes, not slowing the thrust of his hips.

 

 _God_ , it all just feels so good. It’s been so long since Ed has been touched; and he’s never been _ravished_ like this. Oswald seems to want to touch every part of him, seems enthralled by the taste of him. He seems to need this, just as much as Ed does. Maybe even more.

 

Oswald kisses down Ed’s jaw, not being careful of the bruising there—Ed doesn’t mind, he maybe likes it a bit too much—and nips at the bulge of his larynx on his way down. He settles his mouth at the crook of where Ed’s neck meets his shoulder, licking and nipping, before biting down _hard_.

 

Ed yelps, digging his fingers into the soft give of Oswald’s ass. He feels Oswald smile against his neck, and then Oswald’s tongue dragging over the spot he’d just bitten. Ed moans, on the brink of orgasm. Oswald thrusts once, twice more and bites down again on the third thrust. Ed comes, so hard he feels lightheaded, the world spinning around him. He vaguely thinks he shouts, too, but he isn’t too sure until he comes back down to the blurry sight of Oswald grinning at him.

 

“I think you woke the whole town,” he teases.

 

“Crud,” Ed mutters, panting.

 

“Joking,” Oswald says. “My turn to come.” He grabs Ed’s hand out of the back of his underwear and directs it at his crotch.

 

Ed slips his fingers under the waistband at the front, rubbing his thumb tentatively at Oswald’s clit. He’s still coming down from his orgasm, too out of it to be nervous, but he hasn’t done this a lot, so he hopes he doesn’t make a fool of himself.

 

Oswald doesn’t seem to have a problem with Ed’s technique at least, just grinds his hips down against the pressure, nestling his face back into the crook of Ed’s neck and alternating between nipping and gasping.

 

Everything in the hot tub is already wet and warm, but even without that, Ed thinks his fingers would still slip easily against Oswald’s cunt. He teases gently at Oswald’s entrance, but focuses mostly on his clit. Ed rubs against the small nub with his thumb, alternating between that and pinching and rolling it between his fingers, until Oswald is whining and writhing against him.

 

Oswald comes after a few short minutes, his muscles clenching and his nails digging into Ed’s shoulders. He doesn’t quite shout, but he does groan Ed’s name loudly and wantonly, which would have definitely been more than enough to get Ed hard again if he wasn’t so spent from his previous orgasm.

 

Ed pulls his hand out of Oswald’s underwear as Oswald settles back down in his lap, draping his body over Ed’s. He kisses lazily up Ed’s neck and back across his tender jaw to find his lips again. Their hands still grasp at each other as they kiss; but it’s less desperate now. Their breathing slows, too, as does their pace, until they are just pressing soft kisses against each others mouths.

 

Oswald leans back first, resting his forearms on Ed’s shoulders and looking at him in the light of the moon. Ed squints a bit to make out his expression: calm and serene and _sated_. That’s about how Ed feels and he grins up at Oswald.

 

“So,” Ed says, “that was nice.”

 

Oswald hums in agreement and smiles back. Then he shivers. “It’s freezing.”

 

“We should probably go in,” Ed suggests. “Don’t want you to catch cold.”

 

Oswald sighs, but gets out of Ed’s lap. Ed immediately regrets his suggestion to get out of the hot tub. “My immune system is very healthy, but you’re probably right. We should go in.”

 

Ed groans.

 

“You suggested it,” Oswald admonishes, lifting out of the tub to put his butt on the deck, and then scooting back until his legs are under him. “ _Fuck_ , it’s cold. Do you want your glasses?”

 

“Yeah,” Ed says, “thanks.” Oswald hands over his glasses and Ed puts them on, even though they steam up a bit as he climbs out of the tub. It is _freezing_ and Ed hastily grabs a towel and dries himself off enough to put his robe on. They hurry inside, breathing a sigh of relief to be back in the heated hallways.

 

Ed glances over at Oswald through slowly unfogging glasses. His hair is a mess; damp and sticking up in all directions. His face is flushed, his pupils blown. _Ed_ did that.

 

Oswald smirks over at him as they get to their room, his lips only slightly chattering. Ed’s glasses are finally unfogged, and he settles down on a kitchen chair to wait for his turn to rinse off in the shower.

 

In the meantime, nothing much to do but turn over every second of what just happened between him and Oswald.

 

Wow.

 

Ed swallows around the sudden dryness in his throat. He’s been wanting this for longer than he had even realized, and it’s almost surreal that it finally happened. The things he wants to do to Oswald, especially now that they’ve started...whatever this is—

 

He’s dragged out of his dirty thoughts by Oswald opening the bathroom door. “All yours,” he says.

 

Ed stands up, taking in the sight of him, standing there in his pajamas with still-damp and sticking up hair. Things feel different now, now that Ed can just walk up and kiss Oswald. There’s nothing to stop him, so he does. Oswald smiles up at him, stepping around him to walk to the bedroom, patting his ass on his way past.

 

“Rinse off,” he orders, “then come to bed.” He disappears into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

 

‘Come to bed.’ Ed feels delightful shivers at the thought. Like it’s _their_ bed. Not that it wasn’t, before this. But it feels even more now: _theirs_. Like they’re a unit, a couple.

 

Okay, and Ed supposes they haven’t had the conversation about what they are to each other, now. Ed had agreed to wait until they drop Martin off, and he’s fine with that. Things are still moving faster than he’d expected, even without discussing if they’re officially together.

 

Ed gets into the shower in his underwear to clean that off a bit, as well as himself. Especially since he came _in_ them, and he has no idea when they’ll be able to do any laundry. Probably not until they get back to Gotham, so they’ll be washing things in the sink. Better to clean these now.

 

Only a quick rinse, since he doesn’t want to wash his hair until the morning, and he’s climbing out of the shower, eager to get into the bed he’s sharing with Oswald. To get into bed, and cuddle up close with his—his Oswald.

 

Whatever labels they want, they can decide that later. For now, just Oswald is good enough for Ed.

 

Oswald is already under the covers when Ed, dry and back in his pajamas, gets into the bedroom. Ed climbs into bed, setting his glasses on the bedside table, and settles down. Immediately and without a word, Oswald snuggles up against him, draping an arm across Ed’s chest and a leg over Ed’s legs, a cold foot sneaking its way up Ed’s left pant hem.

 

“Really, Oswald?” Ed asks, pretending to be annoyed.

 

Oswald snickers and doesn’t remove his feet.

 

Ed smiles, turning his head so he can press a kiss to Oswald’s forehead. “Goodnight.”

 

“Goodnight, Ed,” Oswald replies, pressing his nose into Ed’s neck and falling silent. Ed lies awake for a short while, while Oswald’s breath evens out and slows, before sinking into sleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my dear Bri for being a wonderful beta! 
> 
> For Ry, still and always. Hope you liked the full chapter!


	3. No Rest for the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to the town hall, purchases at the antique store, a school tour...and a satisfactory first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: like with the last one, I do explicit language to describe a sexual encounter, including Oswald's genitalia. Again, at no point is he misgendered, but I use language that some may find dysphoria-inducing.

It feels like no time has passed when Ed is woken up by a soft, tentative knocking on the bedroom door.

 

Oswald’s head pops up from where it had been nestled against Ed’s neck, and he blearily glances at the door. “Martin?” he asks.

 

The door creaks open slowly, and Ed can make out a small, blurry shape in the doorway. Definitely Martin.

 

“What’s up, little buddy?” Ed asks, his voice sleep-thick. “Can’t sleep?” He can barely make out a head shake from Martin, and he reaches over to grab his glasses from the bedside table.

 

Martin cautiously approaches the bed and holds up his pad. Ed can just barely make out the words in the light of early dawn: “I woke up. Can’t sleep. Can I sleep in here?”

 

“Of course,” Oswald says. “What time is it, anyway?”

 

Ed glances over Oswald’s shoulder at the clock. “5:30.”

 

Oswald lets out a small sigh. “Yeah, Martin, it’s okay. Come on up.” He and Ed shuffle slightly away from each other so Martin can fit in between them.

 

Martin climbs up and settles in the space they’d just made, curling up under the covers and closing his eyes almost immediately. Ed glances over at Oswald, who gives him a small shrug. He smiles back, to let Oswald know that he’s really okay with this.

 

Oswald nods back, and then his eyes flick down to Ed’s neck. “Guess we’ll need that concealer for more than just your jaw,” he says, his voice quiet.  

 

Ed assumes Oswald means that he has some dark marks on his neck from his mauling last night. He touches his neck and smirks at Oswald.

 

Oswald winks, and then yawns. “Guess we’ll get another hour or so,” he whispers, and settles back down. Ed follows suit, placing his glasses once again on the bedside table. He drapes an arm over Martin, resting his hand on Oswald’s side. Sleep claims him quickly.

 

* * *

 

 

The alarm goes off at 7am, and Ed groans at the beeping noise. He feels Oswald roll over, away from the hand still resting on his waist, to turn off the alarm and then start to get out of bed. Ed opens his eyes a crack, blearily watching Oswald’s motions.

 

“I’m going to shower first,” Oswald informs them.

 

Ed sighs and rolls onto his back, rubbing at his eyes. He’s exhausted, and he’d love to sleep a few more hours, but he needs to know what Oswald needs from him first. “What am I doing today?” he asks.

 

“I haven’t decided yet,” Oswald says.

 

Martin taps Ed’s arm, pointing at his pad of paper on the bedside table when he has Ed’s attention. Ed hands it over, grabbing his glasses in the same motion. Martin writes quickly, holding it up to show them.

 

“I want Uncle Riddler to come to the school with us.”

 

Ed swallows hard. Oh. He sits up, his eyes suddenly stinging, to look at Oswald. Oswald is considering this, glancing back and forth between Ed and Martin. Ed needs to say something, to help Oswald come to a decision this early in the morning.

 

“What if—” Ed starts to say, and then has to stop and clear his throat. “What if something happens to you, and I need legal access to Martin?” he asks. “Shouldn’t I be a part of the school tour so the administration recognizes me if I need to come alone at some point in the future?” It’s something he’s thought of in passing, but now seems a good time to bring it up, especially if Martin wants Ed to be a part of their family unit.

 

Oswald blinks at him. “I hadn’t considered that.”

 

Ed waits. Martin, bleary and still half-asleep, scoots backwards into his lap and snuggles up. Ed watches Oswald’s face cycle through a series of emotions, too fast for him to parse this early in the morning.

 

“I’m going to shower,” Oswald announces. “I will let you know my decision when I get out.” He stalks off.

 

Nothing to do but wait and try to wake up. Ed would like to go make coffee, but he doesn’t want to disturb Martin. Instead, he rests his chin on the top of Martin’s head, blinking through the early morning fog.

 

Sometimes when he wakes up in the morning, especially if he hasn’t slept well, he’ll get scared that the slow processing speed is here to stay again. Intellectually, he knows it’s just because he’s sleepy, but that doesn’t stop his brain from kicking into panic mode and worrying itself into circles that he’s _slow_ again.

 

And if he’s not smart anymore— _again_ —what use will Oswald have for him?

 

Ed swallows past the panic building up and tries to take slow, deep breaths. He’s okay, he’s just tired; he hasn’t slept well in—who knows how long. He’s been going non-stop. This is exhaustion and nothing more.

 

It would be nice if Ed believed that.

 

Martin moves in his lap, and Ed looks down to find the kid staring up at him with a worried, confused expression.

 

“I’m okay,” Ed forces out, trying to breathe normally. Martin’s expression doesn’t change into something less worried. He jumps out of bed and hurries out to knock on the bathroom door as Ed tries to calm himself down. “No, Martin,” Ed calls uselessly after the boy, “you don’t need to get Oswald, it’s okay.”

 

It’s too late, but apparently Oswald was finished with his shower anyway. He comes into the bedroom wrapped in his robe, rubbing a towel against his short, dark hair.

 

“Ed?” he asks.

 

“It’s nothing,” Ed says, but it sounds pathetic even to his ears. “I’m just tired.”

 

Oswald looks at him for a second, then glances over at Martin. “Why don’t you go shower, Martin, and I’ll make sure our Uncle Riddler is okay. Sound good?”

 

Ed assumes Martin nods, and he sees the kid scurry out of the room out of the corner of his eye, but he can only meet Oswald’s gaze, his breathing coming short and fast despite his best efforts at slowing it.

 

“Oswald, I’m fine,” Ed tries to protest.

 

Oswald shakes his head, climbing up on the bed to sit next to Ed. “What is it? Talk to me.”

 

Ed opens his mouth to answer, but the words don’t come out. His mind is whirling, exhaustion taking the form of half-formed thoughts and a pulsing panic.

 

He feels hands on his face, and then Oswald’s forehead pressed up against his. Water from Oswald’s still-wet hair drips slowly onto his head and shoulders and against his legs that are still curled up under him. Oswald mutters quietly, his voice soft and soothing, the high lilt familiar and grounding.

 

It’s going to be okay, Ed is okay, he’s all in one piece, he’s not breaking in half, not falling apart. He’s smart he’s smart he’s—he’s _breathing_.

 

Ed takes a deep breath. He’s calming down, but exhaustion is hitting him even harder. Still, he comes down to earth enough to realize that the words Oswald are saying are not English.

 

“What language is that?” he mutters, his voice steadier than it had been a few minutes ago.

 

Oswald chuckles quietly and moves back, still holding gently onto Ed’s face. “Yiddish,” he says, with a rueful smile. “Not as fluent as I used to be in it, but it works well as a white noise for someone who doesn’t speak it. You okay?”

 

Not really. “I will be.”

 

“You up for a bit of an adventure today?” Oswald asks, settling his hands on Ed’s thighs and giving him a sly smile.

 

“After some coffee, I should be,” Ed answers, trying to perk up. “You’ve decided I’m coming with you to tour the school?” He is happy about it, he just can’t make his body remember that.

 

Oswald hums. “Bit more than that, actually.” He leans up to press a quick kiss to Ed’s forehead. “We’re going to the town hall. I’ve got to bribe some government officials to backdate a marriage license and adoption papers for us.”

 

Ed blinks. “ _What_.”

 

“I’m going to bribe—”

 

“No, I heard you,” Ed says. “I just—a _marriage license_?”

 

“And adoption papers,” Oswald confirms, nodding.

 

Ed can’t breathe again, but this time in a different way. His heart fills up, threatens to burst out of his chest.

 

“Now, Ed, you know this is for logistics,” Oswald tells him, his voice soft and warm. “You’ll need an alias, and whatever alias you choose will be married to Oswald Cohen.”

 

“Cohen?” Ed asks, latching onto that instead of the overwhelming idea of the rest of it.

 

“An ancestor,” Oswald says, shrugging. “Far enough away and common enough of a name that it won’t lead back to me.”

 

“What about being too conspicuous?” Ed asks.

 

“Worth it,” Oswald says. Ed aches with it all. “You’re right. I know you’d be able to access Martin regardless—you’d find a way in. But being able to get to him quickly, easily, and legally, is better and more reliable.”

 

It sounds logical, and straightforward, and Ed tries to shake himself out of his trance—his brain just chanting ‘ _marriage_ ’ over and over in an endless loop.

 

At least this pattern is better than the one he’d been falling into. He clears his throat, looking Oswald dead in the eyes. “Let’s get married and adopt a kid.” He grins, and it’s mostly real, with only a dash of, ‘Oh, heck, what am I getting myself into?’

 

* * *

 

 

Once Martin is done in the bathroom, Ed showers, while Oswald puts on a pot of coffee and starts on his makeup.

 

Ed strips out of his pajamas and steps into the shower, his mind reeling.

 

 _Married_.

 

To _Oswald_.

 

Of course, Ed had dreamed about it, albeit in a different way. A big ceremony, shiny suits, a church full of all their frenemies and actual enemies. A truce, for the wedding of the century. The kings of Gotham, reunited, in love, declaring their devotion for all time.

 

Okay, so maybe Ed goes a little overboard in his head.

 

This won’t be any of that; it won’t be public or legal (not that _legality_ necessarily matters to either of them). It’ll be in a grungy county clerk’s office, handing over a fistful of cash to make sure the dates are in the range they need, and that no questions are asked.

 

And to cover for Ed’s lack of ID. He might as well use his old last name—Nashton. He cut all ties with his family, with his former self. There’s nothing left to connect him to that. It should be easy enough to make a cover story, along with a bundle of money, that will work well enough for…

 

For a marriage license.

 

For adoption papers.

 

He’s still raw from his moment of weakness earlier, but the idea of marriage, regardless of the reasons for it, is lifting his spirits. To be part of a family, one that wants him, is something he’s always dreamed of. Even if this is only vaguely real, it’s real _enough_.

 

They want him. Oswald and Martin want him to be part of their family. In whatever way, and Ed is…

 

Ed is _home_.

 

He swallows around the lump in his throat and turns off the shower. As the bathroom fan slowly and loudly sucks out the steam, Ed towels off and dries his hair. He combs a small amount of gel through it to style it, squinting at his reflection through the slowly-defogging mirror, his glasses still set on the sink.

 

Even with his blurry vision, he can make out dark splotches on his neck from Oswald’s mauling last night. Ed smiles at his reflection, running the comb through his hair a final few times, ignoring the bruising on his jaw. Those are the not-fun bruises, and he’d rather pay attention to the _fun_ ones.

 

His glasses steam up slightly as he puts them on, but the fog fades soon after he puts on his robe and opens the door into the communal area. There’s a pot of coffee set on the kitchen counter, and Ed walks over to pour himself a mug before wandering into the bedroom.

 

Martin is settled on the bed with his legs crossed under him, already dressed and ready to go. He’s watching intently as Oswald, also fully dressed, puts the finishing touches on his makeup, dragging a brown pencil through his brow in short, sharp strokes. Ed settles next to Martin on the bed, sipping at his coffee.

 

“Good shower?” Oswald asks, pausing in his routine to meet Ed’s eyes briefly in the reflection of the mirror.

 

Ed nods. Oswald goes back to his eyebrows. Silence settles down, warm and soft, as Ed drinks his mug of coffee as fast as the heat will allow him to. There’s a mug next to Oswald as well, and Ed knows it’s loaded with half and half and sweetener to mask the taste; Oswald _hates_ coffee.

 

“Okay,” Oswald says, putting down his pencil. “Your turn, Ed. Let’s cover up some bruises.”

 

Ed gets up, patting Martin’s shoulder as he does, and walks over to sit in the chair Oswald vacates. Oswald perches on the edge of the vanity so he has a good angle on Ed’s jaw and neck. He rummages through his drug store makeup collection, pulling out a few things and setting them up on the table next to him.

 

Then he gets to work. Ed can only vaguely follow what he’s doing, with Oswald in the way of the mirror. He only feels the dabbing of the white sponge that Oswald is using to apply the concealer. Ed doesn’t mind; the soft brush of the sponge feels good against his skin.

 

Oswald is focused, his attention sharp on Ed’s bruises. It’s intimate, warm; much different than the tired, nervous energy Oswald had when he cleaned the blood off Ed’s face, only a few days ago. They’ve settled into domesticity once again, so easily and neatly.

 

“Tilt your chin,” Oswald orders, hooking a finger under Ed’s jaw and lifting up.

 

Ed complies, so Oswald can reach a spot in the hollow just under his ear. He feels his heartbeat echoing through his body from the closeness. Oswald is overpowering at times—a force of nature—and Ed loves it, loves _him_. It’s easy to get sucked into the eye of the storm this early in the morning, with his coffee slowly clicking his brain on, when he’s warm and drowsy.

 

When he’s going to _marry_ Oswald within the next few hours.

 

“Almost done,” Oswald says, leaning back and chucking the sponge into the trash can. He picks up a tub of powder and a poofy brush. Then he taps out a bit of powder into the lid of the tub, swiping the brush through it and lightly brushing it over the concealer he’d just applied. “Okay, you can get dressed now.”

 

“Thank you,” Ed says, giving Oswald’s cheek a quick kiss. Oswald smiles at him, quick and almost shy, before gesturing to Martin for the two of them to head out into the kitchen.

 

Ed dresses quickly, in his new gray tweed suit from the thrift store. It doesn’t fit quite as well as the suits he has tailor-made, but it’s clean and it’s comfortable and it’s _nice_. It’s professional and non-threatening and subtle. So, it’s not something Ed would wear in Gotham. At least not while he’s trying to make a _statement_.

 

But, here, subtle is better. He needs to look like a father, not like The Riddler. He’s—Edward Nashton? Oh, that’s odd. He hasn’t been _him_ in a long while. It’ll take some getting used to being him again, or at least using the name.

 

Ed reminds himself that he doesn’t have to go back to who he was; that the name is just an alias. He’s still Ed Nygma, still The Riddler. It’s just a name, to take on for a while, for this situation.

 

He’s free of his past.

 

He reminds himself of that as he joins his boys out in the kitchen, pouring another cup of coffee for himself into one of the cheap paper travel cups in a stack next to the coffee maker. He’s only Edward Nashton on paper, for this one final time.

 

Edward Nashton no longer lives in this skin, no longer jumps at every noise, no longer twitches at every touch.

 

It’s just Ed Nygma, now. The Riddler. One and the same, and no trace of who he once was. It’s just a name, just a name, just—

 

Oswald brushes against his side as they walk to grab breakfast in the inn’s dining room, and Ed feels grounded.

 

* * *

 

 

They wait for an hour at the town hall, sitting on a hard wooden bench. Morning sunlight pours in through the picture windows and Martin falls asleep with his head resting against Oswald’s shoulder. Ed sits on the other side of Oswald, their fingers threaded together. If they’re going to play a married couple, they might as well play it up.

 

While they still can. Ed is trying not to think about their return to Gotham; what parts they may have to play _there_. Who knows what the state of the city will be when they return, the chaos that could be waiting for them.

 

Ed will enjoy this for now, and cross that bridge when he comes to it.

 

He and Oswald had wanted to get rings at the small antique store before they came to the town hall, but the store doesn’t open until later, so they’re here first, waiting, fingers interlocked.

 

Finally, the clerk opens her office, letting them into the stuffy, dusty room. Martin clutches sleepily at Oswald’s sleeve as they walk in. Ed walks a step behind them, Oswald’s briefcase full of papers clutched loosely in his hand. The clerk directs them into the two empty chairs in front of her desk, and Martin hops up into Ed’s lap. Automatically, Ed’s arms fold around the boy, his coffee cup long emptied and discarded, the briefcase settled on the floor between the two chairs.

 

Oswald works his magic, charming the grumpy official as Ed and Martin watch, enthralled. Oswald is a miracle worker with his words, spinning a sob story about a fraudulent marriage license, Ed’s lost ID, and a wish to be seen as a normal family. By the end of it, even Ed half-believes his meandering tale of woe and seemingly insurmountable obstacles.

 

The clerk definitely believes him, and Ed can see tears in her eyes, matching with the crocodile tears in Oswald’s. Even Martin sniffles a bit, although that could just be the dust. The clerk agrees, with the addition of a handful of cash, to backdate the marriage license _and_ the adoption papers, as well as to ignore Ed’s lack of ID.

 

Job well done. Ed loves to watch Oswald work.

 

Ed signs the paperwork, Edward Nashton’s name spilling from his fingers like a map seared into his skin. He shakes it off, watching Oswald sign a name only partially his own. It makes him feel better, that they’re both stealing from their pasts without belonging to them.

 

And, like Oswald keeps reminding him, this is for Martin. Martin is what matters, not the ghosts of their pasts.

 

Oswald places his copies of the documents into the briefcase with the rest of the paperwork he needs to file with the school later, thanking the clerk profusely. She smiles at them, a surprisingly sunny expression for the grumpy woman who had greeted them with a scowl less than an hour earlier.

 

Just like that, they’re married. It’s a sham, to be sure, but Ed can’t stop grinning. Oswald catches his eye as they walk back to the car and winks up at him.

 

“Ready to go pick out some rings, _husband_?” he asks, and Ed’s heart skips a beat.

 

“I am!” Ed replies, bouncing slightly as he walks, trying not to laugh and spin around.

 

Martin is grinning too, looking back and forth between the two of them with glee.

 

Oswald glances over at Martin as they get to the car. “Martin,” he says, “have you thought about what we discussed this morning?”

 

Ed looks at them curiously as they get into the car; Oswald riding in the front seat today. Martin nods, and scribbles something down on his pad, holding it up so Ed and Oswald can turn around and see it.

 

There are two words with arrows, the one pointing at Oswald saying, “abba,” and the one pointing at Ed saying, “papa.”

 

 _Papa_? Ed’s heart pounds in his chest. This is all getting so _real_ , and it tastes like everything he’s ever wanted.

 

“Where did you learn that?” Oswald asks, his voice thick. “Abba?” He says it like, ‘AH-bah,’ not at all how Ed had read it in his head. “Did you learn it from Victor?”

 

Martin nods.

 

“What does it mean?” Ed asks.

 

“It’s Hebrew for ‘father,’” Oswald explains. He subtly wipes at his eyes. Martin nods, fast and sharp, and points at Oswald to illustrate his point. “That’s good, Martin.”

 

The car ride down the street to the antique store is silent as Ed and Oswald try to remember how to breathe. Reality, at least for Ed, is setting in—they are going to have to leave Martin behind. Now that they’ve officially taken on the title of _family_ , Ed isn’t sure he’s going to be able to do it.

 

He’s even less sure of how Oswald is going to do it; how Oswald is going to leave their boy and go back to Gotham, with Ed in tow. He will, because he has to. It’s in his blood, his bones. The city, the people, the smog and the violence and the anger running beneath it all. Ed understands that. He feels it too; although, maybe not quite to the same degree. He thinks he could leave Gotham, maybe, one day.

 

Oswald, though, will stay in Gotham until it kills him. He’d said as much to Ed before, back when they were mayor and chief of staff; a late night at the mansion, wine-drunk and worn out, talking about their futures. Everything’s changed now, for worse _and_ for better.

 

For now, at least, they get to pick out rings. Well, more like find whatever rings they can dig up that will fit them well enough.

 

The antique store has a small selection of jewelry; mostly glittery and cheap. Ed digs out what plain rings he can find, and he and Oswald try each of them on in turn. Ed’s never really worn rings before, so it takes him a little bit and a lot of trial and error to judge the sizes of what might fit.

 

Oswald, meanwhile, picks up very few rings, most of which fit on his stubby fingers. He keeps going back to one of them, a simple silver band with an inscription on the inside; unreadable and tarnished.

 

Ed finally settles on a slightly thicker silver ring, going mostly by fit. It’s loose enough to be comfortable but it doesn’t slide around on his slender fingers. Plus, it’s close enough to the one Oswald choose to look purposeful.

 

“We match,” Ed says, showing off his ring to Oswald. Oswald smirks, grabbing hold of Ed’s waving hand and pressing his lips gently to his ring finger, their eyes locked together. Ed swallows, his mouth suddenly gone dry.

 

“You two finally picked?” the bored clerk asks, breaking the moment.

 

Oswald sucks in a breath to snap back, but Ed places a hand on his shoulder to defuse him. “We have,” Ed says. “How much?” He hands over the amount the clerk tells him, and steers Oswald out of the store, picking up Martin on the way from where he’d wandered off to when he got bored of them trying on jewelry.

 

It’s half past ten when they emerge, blinking into the sunlight after the darkness of the antique shop. They head directly to the school from there, Oswald tapping his fingers on the top of the plain wooden cane he’d substituted for his penguin one.

 

“You okay?” Ed asks, glancing over at his...his _husband_. Even if their marriage isn’t quite as real as Ed would like, he’s still going to call Oswald that for as long as he can.

 

“Fine,” Oswald answers shortly, his attention focused on the scenery out the window as they drive out of town. The school is in the mountains, slightly away from the town. It _is_ beautiful here, a lovely place for a boy to grow up.

 

A lovely place for Ed and Oswald to abandon their son.

 

He wants to say something, wants to say that he can’t do this, that they can hide Martin in Gotham, can teach him how to stay safe. But this isn’t about Ed; no matter how much he may have been absorbed into Oswald and Martin’s familial relationship, he has no say in what they do. He’s along for the ride, to help in any way he can.

 

Being weak-willed about this is the opposite of helping. He needs to be strong, he needs to be the backbone.

 

Ed swallows down all his worry, all his anguish. He’s part of this family, but only by proxy. Only as far as Oswald lets him in. He doesn’t want to push too far, and be pushed back. Pushed _out_.

 

So, pushing _down_ is what he’ll do instead. Put on a brave face, pretend that his heart isn’t breaking at the thought of abandoning this child he’d just met a few days earlier to complete strangers. Ed, who never wanted to be a father, and who now can’t image the thought of giving up Martin.

 

But he has to. They have to. Gotham isn’t safe, not for an eleven-year-old boy whose adopted parents are two of the most wanted in the city, by law enforcement and other criminals alike.

 

He’s drawn out of his thoughts when the school comes into view. It’s a beautiful, old-looking large stone building, with sweeping grounds and mountains rising from the ground at the edges of the expanse of lawn. It feels vast and enclosed all at once. Oswald chose well.

 

Oswald looks anxious as they park and step out of the car. This time, there’s no getting his legs in working order first, he’s back to throwing his body up and dealing with the consequences later. Although, Ed supposes that his legs could just be in less pain after the massage and baths—and after the hot tub last night.

 

Either way, Oswald is halfway to the front door before Ed and Martin catch up with him, Ed slowing his long stride once again to keep pace with the boy. Oswald doesn’t wait, just expects them to catch up—which they do—and he rings the bell as soon as he reaches it.

 

It’s not long before the front door unlocks, opening to reveal a stern, older woman with glasses on a chain around her neck.

 

“Yes?” she asks. “How may I help you?”

 

Oswald smiles at her, his charm once again turned up to full blast. “Hello. My name is Oswald Cohen. I have a standing appointment with the headmistress in regard to my son, Martin.” Oswald places a hand on Martin’s shoulder, positioning him to stand in front of him.

 

The woman smiles, suddenly warm. “Of course, Mr. Cohen. We have been expecting you for some time! And who is your tall companion?” she asks, looking up at Ed.

 

“This is my husband, Edward,” Oswald answers, removing his hand briefly from Martin’s shoulder to pat Ed’s forearm.

 

“Lovely to meet you, all of you. My name is Greta, I’m the assistant to the headmistress. I’ll take you three to her straightaway. Please, follow me.” She beckons them inside, closing and bolting the door after them. “We like to keep our doors locked, to make sure our students stay safe,” she explains. “They are, of course, free to go about the grounds with a chaperone. Our campus is secure, but we know the parents of our students worry about their children, so we do make sure that everything is kept locked up tight.”

 

Oswald nods, one hand still on Martin’s shoulder, the other on his cane. Ed trails behind them. He glances around at the hallways, which are filled with a variety of high art and what are clearly children’s’ paintings. The contrast is interesting and unexpected; usually these places just focus on the fancy and less on the output of their students, or at least that’s what Ed had thought.

 

Ed went to public school. All of this is as foreign to him as the Yiddish Oswald had spoken this morning.

 

The headmistress’ office is up a flight of stairs, but Greta leads them to a spacious, shiny elevator instead, without a word about it. She’s been chattering away the whole time, about the art on the walls, about the grounds and the meal services. Ed half pays attention, storing what he might need and ignoring the rest.

 

She’s filling the air with general things; Ed wants to know the specifics that he’s sure Oswald already knows. This isn’t a prospective student tour, after all. Martin is going here, he just needs to be shown the ropes.

 

Greta knocks on a wooden door, with a plaque on the wall reading, ‘Headmistress.’ There are bumps under the word that Ed recognizes as braille.

 

“Ms. Sapphire?” Greta calls through the door. “Mr. Cohen and his husband have arrived, with their son, Martin.”

 

The door bursts open, and they are greeted with a tall, wide woman with a bright smile. “Mr. Cohen!” she says, grinning at Oswald. “Lovely to meet you at last!” She holds her hand out to shake his.

 

Oswald shuffles quickly, taking his hand off Martin’s shoulder for the first time since they walked through the doors to switch his cane to his left hand and finally free up his right to shake her offered hand. “Nice to finally meet you as well, Headmistress.”

 

Ms. Sapphire doesn’t seem to mind the delay, or the shuffle, just turns her attention to Martin. “Hello, young man,” she says, bending slightly so she doesn’t tower over him completely. “Welcome to Mountainvale School.”

 

Martin nods at her, holding out his hand for her to shake as well.

 

She seems pleased with this, and turns her attention to Ed. “Mr. Cohen didn’t mention you in his initial requests, and I didn’t catch your name.”

 

“Edward Nashton,” Ed says, shaking her hand. “Oswald and I keep our relationship private, for the most part. Only those who need to know, know.”

 

“Well, I am honored to count myself among those who need to know!” she says, so bubbly and bright that Ed feels as though he’s in direct sunshine, as opposed to in the dark, cool hallways of the school. “Please, come in.”

 

Greta says a quick goodbye, closing the door behind her after the rest of them have gone into the headmistress’ office. There are four chairs on the opposite side of the large wooden desk, and the three of them settle in, while Ms. Sapphire goes around behind her desk, rifling through paperwork. Ed sets the briefcase down next to Oswald before sitting back in the comfortable chair.

 

“So, some office things before we get to the fun part, if that’s alright with you, Mr. Cohen?” Ms. Sapphire asks.

 

Oswald inclines his head in acknowledgement.

 

“Wonderful!” She flips open the folder and starts going over paperwork. It’s just a lot of boring logistics, with Oswald handing over the documents he and Ed had acquired this morning. Ed ends up playing tic-tac-toe with Martin under the sightline of the desk. Oswald notices and shakes his head with a fond half-smile as he and Ms. Sapphire go over the agreements that they’d made over the phone previously.

 

It’s rapidly approaching lunchtime as they finish up, and as Ed maybe-on-purpose-maybe-not loses another game of tic-tac-toe. Martin smirks at him, looking a little too reminiscent of Oswald.

 

Ms. Sapphire notices them playing games and laughs a bit. “My apologies, gentlemen. I know all the nitty-gritty gets a bit tedious. We’re more or less done; how about we grab lunch in the dining hall, and I can go over how we work, what we offer, and give Martin a bit of a rundown of what his time with us will be like.”

 

“Sounds good to me!” Ed says, and Martin nods. Oswald hands the briefcase back over to Ed, and, as they leave the office, resumes walking with one hand on Martin’s shoulder. Ed doesn’t begrudge him this; they’ll be leaving Martin behind soon.

 

Not that Ed needs to, but he takes a mental catalogue of potential escape routes, just in case. Can’t hurt to be prepared, and he can run through them with Martin later. It’s never too early to teach about escape routes.

 

The dining hall is cozy and warm, small tables scattered around a low ceiling. Ms. Sapphire directs Ed and Oswald to one, and then takes Martin to go through the line and pick up food for all of them.

 

As soon as they leave, Oswald takes a deep breath and reaches out to clutch at Ed’s hand.

 

“You okay?” Ed asks, rubbing his thumb across the back of Oswald’s hand.

 

“Please don’t ask me that right now,” Oswald replies, taking long, careful breaths. “I just need a minute.”

 

Ed nods. He can understand that. It must be tough for Oswald to close himself off to the realities of this. Ed can understand his facade cracking slightly, in the quiet moments. He watches Oswald watch Martin as the boy goes through the line, nodding and shaking his head at various points up at the tall Ms. Sapphire.

 

“She seems good,” Ed speculates, hoping to help Oswald stave off a meltdown.

 

Oswald swallows, tearing his eyes away from Martin. “She’s one of the reasons I picked this place,” he answers. “Her methods are...unorthodox, and her policies are inclusive. The school caters to a wide variety of disabilities and eccentricities.”

 

“Quite a find,” Ed says.

 

“It was a last-resort type of thing,” Oswald answers, and then groans, dropping his head down to the table. “What am I doing, Ed?”

 

“The right thing,” Ed answers, without hesitation. Regardless of how he feels about leaving Martin behind, it _is_ the right thing to do. To keep the kid safe from the horrors of Gotham, from being used as leverage every time someone wants to stick it to Oswald.

 

“Is it really?” Oswald asks, his voice muffled against the table.

 

Ed leans forward, pressing a kiss to the crown of Oswald’s head. “Yes.”

 

Oswald peeks up, lifting his head slightly to look at Ed. His eyes are damp, and he sits up fully and swipes at them angrily. “I hate this,” he mutters.

 

Ed silently agrees. “I know, Oswald,” he says. “But it’s what you have to do to keep Martin safe right now. This doesn’t have to be forever, though—he can come back to Gotham when he’s old enough.”

 

“You’re right,” Oswald says, taking a deep breath. He looks at Ed, his focus sharp and considering. “Thank you.”

 

“For what?” Ed asks.

 

Oswald smiles, weak and small, but it’s a smile. “Being here. Being mine.”

 

Ed can’t help but flash a smile of his own back at Oswald. He feels warm, light, even as the situation they’re in bears down on him. He is Oswald’s, and it feels _right_.

 

Martin and Ms. Sapphire get back to table, each carrying a tray stacked full of food.

 

“I think Martin is going to fit in great here!” Ms. Sapphire announces, upon settling down.

 

“I’m glad,” Oswald responds, the calm, composed mask slipping back on to cover his face. “What did you two discuss?”

 

Martin scribbles on his pad while Oswald and Ed help themselves to some of the food on the trays.

 

“I am going to learn ASL and self-defense,” Martin says, smiling proudly.

 

“And a few other things,” Ms. Sapphire says, laughing.

 

Martin shrugs.

 

“Those are very good things to learn,” Oswald says, smiling. “I suppose Ed and I should learn sign language as well, so we can keep up with you.”

 

Martin nods and writes on his pad again: “Abba, there’s a temple in town she says I can take lessons at.”

 

Oswald opens and closes his mouth, swallowing whatever words he was going to say.

 

Ms. Sapphire nods, seemingly not noticing Oswald’s reaction. “There’s a reform congregation that has taught some of our students before. We are willing to take students to Shabbat and other holiday services, as well as to Sunday school. We have three that currently attend. And when young Mr. Cohen approaches Bar Mitzvah age—soon, yes?—the synagogue is happy to send private tutors over weekly, as well as one of the Rabbis to go over the finer points. If that’s something you’re interested in, we can discuss that further.”

 

“He’s around eleven, we think,” Oswald responds, his voice quiet and unsteady. “Martin, this is something you want?”

 

Martin nods emphatically. He writes, “I want to learn how to be Jewish too.”

 

Ed feels on the outside again, and he shoves that feeling down, as far as he can. This is still _not_ about him, and he can’t begrudge his boys this connection. He rests a hand gently and tentatively on Oswald’s back, between his shoulder blades.

 

It steadies Oswald, and his shoulders pull back so he’s sitting up straighter. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Martin,” he says, his voice slightly steadier. “I’m very glad you want to connect with my—now, also _your_ heritage. You’ll have to formally convert, and—” Oswald visibly chokes up, hurriedly squashing it— “and I won’t be able to be here for that.”

 

Martin nods solemnly. “It’s okay, Abba” he writes. “I know you can’t be. I’ll make you proud, anyway.”

 

Oswald gasps quietly. Ed rubs his hand gently across Oswald’s back, but it’s not enough to keep him together.

 

“I’m always proud of you, Martin,” Oswald says, his words pinched. “Ms. Sapphire,” he says, turning his attention away from Martin, “will you point me in the direction of the restroom?”

 

She directs him, and Oswald pries himself away from Ed and hurries off to compose himself. Ed swallows, checking to see how Martin is faring. The kid is looking rueful, staring off after Oswald.

 

“Hey, little buddy,” Ed says. Martin looks at him. “I think that’s a great idea. I know it means a lot to Oswald.”

 

Martin blinks at Ed. He looks down at his pad to write something, but before he can, a young girl comes running up and plops down in the chair Oswald had vacated. She looks at Martin intently for a second, her eyes especially focusing on the pad of paper hanging around his neck, and then she starts signing at him, her hands moving rapidly and excitedly.

 

Ms. Sapphire laughs, not unkindly, and waves her hand gently to get the girl’s attention. She signs something, and the girl’s expression changes to a pout. Ms. Sapphire says something else, and the girl responds rapidly, quickly losing her petulant expression in order for her facial expressions to keep up with her signs. Martin and Ed watch this exchange with interest.

 

“She saw the pad around your neck and thought you might know ASL,” Ms. Sapphire explains, when their conversation pauses. “This is Zora, one of our students. She says she’ll be happy to practice signing with you, Martin, once you start classes.”

 

Zora smiles and waves at Martin. He smiles back and writes, “Nice to meet you!” Then he holds out the pad to her, offering her the chance to respond.

 

She takes it, and they start passing notes back and forth. Ed smiles at them and turns to Ms. Sapphire.

 

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I should go check on my husband.” It’s been a few minutes, and Ed isn’t horribly worried about Oswald, but he does really want to make sure he’s okay.

 

“Of course,” Ms. Sapphire says. “I know this can be a hard transition for some parents; please feel free to do whatever you need to make it easier for him and for you.”

 

Ed thanks her and excuses himself from the table, giving Martin a quick pat on the head as he passes. The bathroom is just out in the hallway, and Ed knocks on the door of the accessible restroom. “Oswald? You in there?”

 

The door opens a crack. Ed pushes it the rest of the way and walks in, closing and locking it behind him.

 

“I thought you might have been a student,” Oswald says, his voice rough. He sniffles, walking back over to the mirror and patting his face with a damp handkerchief that he’d been clutching.

 

“Just me,” Ed says, walking over. He leans back against the counter, looking at Oswald. “Are you okay?”

 

“Do I _look_ okay?” Oswald snaps.

 

“You look like hell,” Ed answers.

 

Oswald glares at him through red, watery eyes.

 

“We could not go back to Gotham,” Ed throws out. He knows Oswald will shoot it down, but he has to at least suggest it.

 

Oswald snorts. “Yeah, right. Fat chance.”

 

Ed sighs, reaching out. He hooks a hand around Oswald’s shoulder and pulls him in. Oswald lets Ed maneuver him into an embrace, his head resting on Ed’s shoulder. “I love you, Oswald,” Ed says, his lips against Oswald’s hair. “You can do this.”

 

“I don’t want to do _this_ anymore,” Oswald says. “How do I...how do I stop _feeling_ things?”

 

“You don’t mean that,” Ed says, his heart aching.

 

Oswald sniffles into his shoulder. “I want to mean it.”

 

“Your heart is—”

 

“My weakness. You’ve said as much before.”

 

“I was _wrong_ ,” Ed says.

 

“No, you weren’t.”

 

“Oswald—”

 

“I can’t do this.” Oswald tries to push away from Ed, but Ed grabs onto his upper arms, holding him tightly in place.

 

“Oswald, _Oswald_ , listen to me,” Ed says. “You are the _strongest_ person I know.”

 

Oswald lets out a noise of disgust and tries to wiggle out of Ed’s grip.

 

“No, don’t give me that bullshit, Oswald, you _are_. Martin needs you to be strong for him. I know you can be. I _know you_ , Oswald.”

 

“Fuck you,” Oswald snaps.  

 

Ed grins, big and teasing, trying to derail Oswald’s anger and pain. “Later.”

 

Oswald rolls his eyes, but the joke—okay, not really a joke—knocks some of the fury and frustration out of him.

 

Ed loosens his grip, moving his hands instead to hold Oswald’s face. His thumbs brush away the lines of angry tears running down his cheeks. “Oswald, my dear Oswald, you’ll get through this. Martin understands why you have to do this. I mean, he’s already been kidnapped a few times to get to you. He _gets it_. You’ll see him again.”

 

“I’m abandoning him,” Oswald mutters. “And I’m ruining my eyeliner.” He laughs wetly at his own comment. “I’m a mess.”

 

“You’re my mess,” Ed says, leaning forward and kissing his forehead.

 

Oswald sniffs and successfully breaks away from Ed, moving past him and back to the mirror to clean his face and fix his makeup. “I wish he’d never met me. I wish I’d never…” His tone changes from sadness to anger. “I don’t care if Sofia is in a coma, I want to peel off her fingernails, nice and slow,” Oswald spits. “I want to slice out her organs and feed them to her through a fucking straw.”

 

“I’ll help,” Ed offers, draping an arm over Oswald’s shoulders. “But what’s done is done. Martin is your son now, and you can’t change that. You’re not abandoning him, and he knows that. He loves you, just like you love him. And when he’s old enough, he’ll come back to Gotham, and we’ll teach him the ropes.”

 

Oswald sighs, putting the finishing touches on his eyeliner. “I suppose you’re right.”

 

Ed hums, pressing a kiss to Oswald’s temple. “I often am.”

 

“Asshole,” Oswald mutters.

 

“What was that, _dear_?” Ed asks, even though he heard full well what Oswald said. He knows Oswald doesn’t mean it, but he still bristles at being called names.

 

“I love you even though you infuriate me,” Oswald answers, turning in to wrap his arms around Ed’s waist.

 

“I can live with that,” Ed says. He leans down, meeting Oswald’s lips. Oswald’s mouth opens to him, their tongues sliding together. Ed feels the kiss in his whole body, desperate and aching. He starts to tangle his fingers in Oswald’s hair, but Oswald pulls back and slaps his hands away.

 

“Ed,” he admonishes, “don’t mess up my hair.” He glances up at Ed, his pupils blown out, his breath coming hard. “And do _not_ make me want to blow you in the bathroom of our son’s school.” He steps back, straightening his clothes as Ed smirks, properly chided.

 

“Sorry, husband dear,” Ed teases.

 

Oswald heaves a heavy sigh, ignoring him. “We should go back out there.”

 

“If you’re ready.”

 

“I’m not,” Oswald admits. “But I won’t let that stop me.” He stalks to the door, grabbing his cane from where it was leaning in the corner. “Let’s go.”

 

Ed walks at his side as they go back into the dining room and hopes they can make it through this together.

 

* * *

 

 

The tour of the school and grounds takes up the rest of the afternoon. Ed likes Ms. Sapphire more and more, especially when she doesn’t ask if Oswald can handle all the walking. She clearly keeps an eye on him, but she’s respectful about it.

 

She clearly is also taking a shine to Martin, and he to her, even though she assures them she doesn’t have much contact with the students after they start classes.

 

“They’re all so busy,” she explains. “Along with the traditional classes, and the homework that goes along with them, there are so many extracurricular options. Martin will have the option to take Hebrew lessons at the reform congregation, as well as the self-defense classes that I know he is interested in. Then there are sports, theatre, art, and a variety of other one-off workshops.”

 

“He’ll be getting quite the education,” Ed says, impressed.

 

Ms. Sapphire nods. “We aim to have our students leave as well rounded as we can help them be.”

 

It’s late afternoon when the tour finishes up, in the dormitories. The students all get single rooms, and Ms. Sapphire shows Martin which one will be his. He’ll move into it tomorrow morning, and they’ll sit with the academic advisor and Martin will pick out his classes. Once that’s done, Ed and Oswald will have the afternoon to spend with Martin, settling him in and getting him prepared.

 

Then, after that, they’ll leave.

 

They’ll leave and they’ll go back to Gotham, and their only contact with Martin will be through a series of PO boxes across the country, bouncing from one to the next in a seemingly random pattern until they reach this small, sleepy town.

 

The thought sticks with Ed through a quiet meal at the neon-lit diner near the inn, through cuddled in bed with Martin between him and Oswald, as cartoons play on the small TV, and as Ed and Oswald glance at each other over Martin’s head.

 

It lingers as Martin falls asleep, curled up against Oswald. Ed has to carefully pry his fingers open from their death grip on Oswald’s pajama shirt so he can carry the boy to bed. Martin half-wakes, yawning and snuggling up in Ed’s arms. Ed isn’t sure he’s ever missed someone this much before they’re even gone.

 

But here he is, with this kid, wishing he could stay and be a father in more than just paperwork under a false name; in more than in his proximity to Oswald. He tucks Martin into bed and wants so desperately to be able to do that every night from now on, until Martin gets too old and rolls his eyes in annoyance.

 

And then he wants to keep doing it, to say goodnight, and to pass Oswald on his way out. To sit in the kitchen with Oswald, drinking wine and moving to the couch to watch the news. To cuddle up close and fall asleep in the dancing lights of the fire and the television. To wake each other up, too late, and go up to their bed to sleep out the rest of the night.

 

A home, a family, a quiet life.

 

Of course, he still wants to go out during the day and wreak havoc on Gotham. It would be hard to have both. Impossible, really.

 

Sacrifices have to be made. For glory, for hopes and dreams. For revenge and fun and _power_.

 

Ed gets back to the bedroom he shares with Oswald, closing the door behind him. Oswald has turned the TV from cartoons to some nonsense show, and he glances up at Ed with an intense gaze.

 

“Lock the door,” he commands.

 

Ed feels a shiver run through his body. He locks the door, fiddling with the knob behind him so he doesn’t have to take his eyes off Oswald.

 

Oswald looks at him like he’s dessert, and Ed’s mouth goes dry. He feels himself drawn back over to the bed, his body moving without him consciously controlling it, sucked in by Oswald’s _need_. Oswald scoots forward, hanging his legs off the edge of the bed, meeting Ed halfway.

 

He grabs fistfuls of Ed’s shirt, bringing him down for a kiss, crashing their mouths together. Ed moans softly, rubbing his palms up Oswald’s thighs. Oswald moves his legs with the caress of Ed’s hands, wrapping them tight around Ed’s waist.

 

Ed slides his hands up, up, under Oswald’s ass, hoisting him up and lifting him back up on the bed. Oswald’s hands go immediately to the buttons on Ed’s pajama shirt, popping them open violently, almost tearing some of them off in his haste to get Ed’s shirt off. Ed helps him the rest of the way, pulling his shirt off and tossing it away, before leaning back down over Oswald to kiss him again.

 

He slips his hands up Oswald’s shirt, feeling his stomach muscles twitch as Ed’s fingertips graze over the soft skin. His hands skim over Oswald’s ribs on their way up to tease at his nipples.

 

Oswald whines, grinding his hips up into Ed’s. “ _Ed_ ,” he moans, “I need you— _please_.”

 

Ed gasps, ducking his head and pressing his lips against Oswald’s neck. “What do you need? Tell me.”

 

“Fuck me,” Oswald orders, his voice high and commanding, even as he fights to keep it quiet. “Make me forget—make me forget everything that’s not your cock.”

 

Ed’s head spins; all his blood rushing to his dick. “ _Anything_ ,” he promises, into the soft, warm skin of Oswald’s neck.

 

“Condoms are in the inner pocket of my duffel bag,” Oswald says, running a finger down Ed’s spine. “Go get one.”

 

“Yes, sir!” Ed reluctantly climbs off Oswald, hurrying over to rifle through the duffel. He finds it quickly, turning around to see Oswald stripping out of his clothes. Ed watches, rapt, as Oswald sheds his shirt, exposing expanses of pale skin. Small scars dot his torso and arms, including one from the wound Ed had nursed him back to health from.

 

Ed has seen Oswald unclothed before, in various stages. He had to, to treat the wound Oswald had been dying from when they’d met that fateful night in the woods. But that was clinical, medical; and Ed had tried to avert his eyes as much as possible, to give Oswald the privacy he deserved.

 

He’d seen bits of Oswald last night, in the dark of the moonlight, a blur of light skin in the dark and without his glasses.

 

Now, though, Oswald is stripping _for_ Ed, staring back at him, exposing his body for him to see. The lights in the room are low, old and yellowed and dim, but Ed can _see_.

 

Oswald falls back on the bed as Ed watches, lifting his hips and slipping out of his pajama pants. His black boyshorts are a shock against the white of his skin, and Ed follows the lines of his legs. Mostly naked, the splay of his right leg is even more clear, as are the indents that run down along it. Ed has touched them, felt them, massaged them, but he didn’t realize how many there were, didn’t know that they would be red and angry-looking.

 

“What?” Oswald says, languidly, “Never seen misshapen legs like this before?” He’s teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of fear layered in his words.

 

“I love your legs,” Ed says, simply. He means every word. “I just wish they didn’t hurt you so much.”

 

“And if wishes were horses, we’d all be eating steak,” Oswald snips back. “Why are you still standing all the way over there, instead of fucking me?”

 

Ed opens his mouth to ask about the mangled idiom, but decides that he would, actually, rather be fucking Oswald. He strides back over to the bed, hurriedly slipping out of his pants and underwear in one motion, before climbing back on top of Oswald, kissing him hungrily.

 

Oswald’s hand goes right to his cock, and Ed whimpers at the feel of Oswald’s short, calloused fingers stroking him roughly.

 

“You like that, Ed?” Oswald asks breathlessly. Ed can only whine; the only thoughts in his head are of Oswald’s hands, Oswald’s lips, Oswald’s body under him. “You wanna make me feel good?” Ed nods, so fast his head spins.

 

Oswald laughs, quiet and sultry.

 

“Who knew I could shut you up so easily?” Oswald teases, taking his hand off Ed’s cock so he can root around on the bed for the discarded condom packet and rip it open.

 

Ed pants, letting Oswald roll the condom on. He has a vague thought that he should be more helpful, but he’s overwhelmed with the sensations. Last night had been fast and half-clothed; fooling around in a hot tub feels different than actually having _sex_.

 

Oh, god, he’s going to have _sex_ with Oswald. The condom is _on_ , and Oswald is wriggling out of his underwear, and Ed is—Ed is so fucking turned on, he’s already seeing stars.

 

“Ed?” Oswald asks. “You with me?”

 

Ed swallows. He’s nervous, anxious, so fucking _horny_ ; his mind is shorting out.

 

“You want to do this?” Oswald asks, peering up at him.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Ed answers, without hesitation. He does, he does _so bad_ , but he doesn’t want to mess this up. He sighs and drops his head against Oswald’s shoulder. “I want you, Oswald, more than _anything_. I just want to be _good_. I don’t want to—”

 

Oswald presses a finger to his lips, shushing him. “Ed, I don’t need you to be the best lover the world has ever seen. I can ride you if it’ll make you less nervous about performing well, or whatever it is you’re worried about.”

 

Ed nods, slightly embarrassed. This is not how he wanted this whole thing to go. “Yeah, if you want—”

 

Oswald shoves at Ed, pushing him over onto his back. “Shut up, Ed; I don’t care what position we’re in, as long as your cock is inside me.” He climbs on top, and Ed isn’t any less dizzy with it all, but at least his glasses aren’t falling down his nose anymore, and he’s not as panicked about screwing it all up.

 

And Oswald is breathtaking on top of him; Ed slides his hands and eyes up Oswald’s torso, drinking in the sight of him.

 

Oswald smirks, wrapping a hand around Ed’s cock and guiding it to his entrance. He meets Ed’s eyes steadily as he sinks down slowly; the wet warmth of his cunt enveloping Ed’s cock. Ed groans loudly as he throws his head back.

 

“Be quiet,” Oswald hisses. “If you wake Martin I’ll kill you myself.”

 

Ed tries to be quiet as Oswald rolls his hips, but he makes the mistake of looking back at Oswald—he looks so good, his skin already damp with sweat, his hair falling over his eyes, his cunt enveloping Ed’s cock—and Ed moans again, louder this time. He shoves his hand into his mouth, but it’s too late.

 

Oswald smacks him less-than-gently on the chest. “Don’t make me gag you,” he scolds.

 

Ed raises an eyebrow, not taking his hand out of his mouth in case Oswald moves _like that_ again.

 

“Oh?” Oswald asks, his mouth slowly turning up in a smirk. “You want me to gag you?”

 

Ed nods, intrigued. He’s never been gagged in bed before; it might be fun.

 

Unfortunately, this means Oswald has to pull off Ed’s cock, and Ed whines around his hand at the loss of wet heat around him. Oswald winks at him and hurries off to the closet to rifle through their clothes.

 

He pulls out what he was looking for—the question mark covered bow tie that he’d found for Ed in the thrift shop. Ed swallows, removing his hand from his mouth so Oswald can place the bow tie in instead, securing it around the back of his head.

 

“Try to make noise,” Oswald orders, reaching down to run his fingers through Ed’s hair.

 

Ed tries, and all that comes out is a garbled sound.

 

“Good boy,” Oswald says, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of Ed’s nose. He clambers back up on the bed, sinking back down on Ed’s cock with a soft groan. Ed feels it through his whole body, building fast as Oswald’s movements speed up.

 

Oswald leans back, grasping at Ed’s thighs and leveraging himself as he fucks himself on Ed’s cock, soft gasps escaping his lips. He’s the most gorgeous man Ed has ever seen.

 

Ed sees stars again, as he grasps at the sheets and bites down on the bow tie in his mouth. He wants to close his eyes, but he wants to look at Oswald even more—he never wants to take his eyes off Oswald again. But he’s close, he’s so _close_ , and he pants around the gag, whining noises clawing their way up his throat—

 

He comes, gasping and writhing, the world whiting out for a split second. When he comes back down, Oswald is grinning at him.

 

“I gotta say, Ed,” Oswald says, lifting his hips to pull off Ed’s slowly softening cock, “I don’t know _what_ you were worried about.” He leans forward, untying the bow tie and tossing it aside.

 

Ed smiles, closing the small distance between them to kiss Oswald again. “You didn’t come yet, though, did you?” Ed asks, when he pulls back.

 

“That’s easily fixed,” Oswald says, deliberately falling off Ed and onto the bed. Ed follows him, turning his body to face Oswald. “Come here,” Oswald mutters. He kisses Ed, at the same time grabbing onto Ed’s wrist and directing him to his cunt.

 

Ed complies; he’s good at following directions. Oswald is already open and ready after fucking himself on Ed’s cock, so Ed pushes three fingers in, enveloping them completely in Oswald’s cunt. Oswald moans into his mouth, grinding down on Ed’s fingers.

 

He moves in and out, trying to find a good rhythm, trying not to overthink, as Oswald pants and whines. Their foreheads rest together, both of them damp with sweat, and Ed’s glasses slide down his nose. He pulls them off with his free hand, placing them on the pillow behind his head.

 

Oswald grasps onto Ed’s shoulder with one hand and his forearm with the other, using that to leverage himself as he moves with Ed’s fingers, forcing them deeper and faster into him. He starts to make more noise, so Ed captures his mouth, swallowing down the groans and whimpers with a harsh, rough kiss.

 

When Oswald comes, he bites down, almost hard enough to draw blood from Ed’s lip. It stings, sweet and enthralling; Ed’s head spins again. Oswald pants, nuzzling gently against Ed’s face as he comes down from his orgasm.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters.

 

Ed laughs, giddy. “So, I was satisfactory?” he asks. He’s teasing, but he also really wants Oswald to tell him that he did a good job.

 

Oswald hums, pressing a quick, sloppy kiss to the corner of Ed’s mouth. “ _Very_.”

 

Ed beams.

 

They clean themselves up, rinsing off quickly in the shower together—well, it would be quick if they didn’t get distracted making out against the shower wall for a good few minutes—and put their pajamas back on, climbing back into bed.

 

“Feel better?” Ed asks, when they’re snuggled up together, Oswald’s head resting on Ed’s chest.

 

Oswald hums thoughtfully. “Took my mind off it for a while, at least.” He shifts, propping his chin up on Ed’s chest. Ed can only barely make out his silhouette in the dark room, but he can see enough from the moonlight pushing through the curtains to reach up and run his fingers through Oswald’s hair.

 

“We’ll get through this,” Ed promises. “Together.”

 

Oswald lifts up even more, to kiss Ed. It’s soft and gentle, and only slightly stings Ed’s lip where Oswald had bit down earlier. “I know.” He settles back down, pillowing his head on Ed’s chest once again. “Goodnight, my dear Ed.”

 

Ed smiles into the dark. “Goodnight, Oswald.”

 

He falls asleep almost instantly, worn out from the day—and from the sex. They’ll face tomorrow together; that, at least, Ed can take comfort in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Bri, for being my general beta, and to Ry, for being my sexy-times beta. Love you both.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr @jewishgarygreen, come say hi!


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